


Lover is a Day

by Silver_Purls



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: A bit angsty sorry, Action & Romance, Fights, Idiots in Love, M/M, Mutual Pining, New Orleans adventures, Pining, Post-Book 2: Wayward Son, There will be love I swear, Vampires, Vampires and Mages, parties and drinking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-09
Updated: 2020-03-18
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:20:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21725917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silver_Purls/pseuds/Silver_Purls
Summary: In the wake of his breakup with Simon and the war in London that is threatening to reveal his identity to the world of mages and take his magic away forever, Baz travels to New Orleans to seek out a community of vampires and mages he has heard rumors of through Shepard’s online forums. A Romeo and Juliet type of alliance between two groups of enemies seems like the perfect place to mend a broken heart and discover how to live in two worlds that despise each other.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 12
Kudos: 55





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! I'm happy to share my work with you, it's actually been a long time in the making! I should be updating chapters pretty frequently, but I would appreciate any feedback and comments as this is my first fic on here. Thanks for your support and I hope you enjoy the story!
> 
> I've updated the summary a few times while I develop my plot a bit further, I hope it doesn't cause any confusion!

Baz

  
  
My hand has been hovering over the hotel door for three minutes now. Somehow this makes it all more real, and more permanent. Even more than the eight-hour plane ride here. Once I knock on the door, I am opening myself up to everything on the other side. I’m going to leave everything on the other side. My home and London, my family and my name. Simon. His name flashes in my mind and I’m revisited by the hot flash that always accompanies my thoughts of him. I furrow my brow and drop my fist on the door to knock. I can’t think about Simon right now. I’m moving forward. The knock sounds muffled on the solid door, quiet almost. I wonder if I should knock again, but before I can raise my hand I hear a faint shuffling on the other side.

The knob turns and a face appears in the crack with the chain hanging between us. A sour looking woman with lipstick stains on her teeth and apparently no one in her life to tell her that there _is_ such a thing as too much mascara is looking at me scornfully. “Can I help you?” She lifts an eyebrow to imply that whatever it is I might have to say had better be worth her taking time out of whatever precious activity she might have just been engaging in.

“I’m looking for Lamb.” My voice is firm and unfaltering. I scowl down at her, being sure to convey how she is not the only one being _terribly_ inconvenienced by the frivolity of this conversation.

“Lamb’s not here. Who the fuck are you?” Her scowl deepens as she studies me. 

“Tell him that it’s Baz. He’ll want to see me.” The woman frowns and ducks her head back into the room, keeping one high heel in the door to keep it from shutting. I hear the hushed whispers of a group as I tap my foot impatiently.

I’m not sure how I ended up here. All I know is that I _couldn’t_ stay there anymore. I tried to go one with life, attend my classes and act like I have a life in London to live. Everything there made me think of Simon bloody Snow. I couldn’t walk to the library near my flat without thinking that I see him standing in line at the chippy cart or coming out of the tube station or sitting on one of the benches in the park. It’s never him, of course. I’m honestly not sure if it would be worse if I saw him or not, it doesn’t feel like it could get any worse as it is, but I’m not sure what I would do if I actually saw him in public like that. Punch him? Kiss him? Run and hide? Years of controlling my feelings for Snow were easy enough when I had no idea what it actually felt like to fall asleep with his arms wrapped around me.

I couldn’t very well go home either. Not after all that happened. Not without my wand, and not after the hearing.

“It’ll be best to lay low while we sort this out, Basilton. We are doing everything we can, but you know how the Coven can be.” My father had pat me on the back and reached out to hand me a new bank card. “I’ve arranged a splendid opportunity for you in Paris that will keep you away from the Coven… and the Snow boy while this is dealt with.”

“I’m done with Snow, father. You can rest easy.” My voice had been full of venom. I don’t usually talk to my father like this, but I just didn’t have the ability to care about the Grimms or the Pitches or the Mage or the Coven or any of it in that moment. I kept repeating Snow’s words over and over in my head, letting them fester and poison any good intentions I might have left.  
  
“Basil, you know we don’t want you to leave. You know the politics are tricky right now, this is in your best interest until we can convince The Coven that there’s no threat. We'll have you cleared, your wand back, and you'll be where you belong. _Soon_." 

"Because letting house Pitch's vampire heir continue to wield magic and immortality is in the best interest of the coven and should be easy to negotiate," I roll my eyes. "I left my wand with them yesterday. I don't see a future where I get it back."

“Basilton-“ he had started, but I had already stormed through the room and shut the door before I could hear the rest of his sentence.

The voices behind the door are arguing now, and abruptly the woman’s foot kicks her shoe back in and the door shuts. I frown and lift my fist to knock again when I hear the chain being undone. The door creeks open and man steps in the opening. His face is familiar, and my heartbeat quickens at the sight of him. _What am I doing here?_ I ignore my instincts, and lift my eyebrows up in greeting. “Hello, Lamb.”

He laughs and opens the door a bit wider. “Hello, Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch. Please, come in.”

**Simon**

“Forty quid twenty” I breath out. The sweaty normal woman in front of me looks at me like she might eat me.

“I only got a couple things. How the hell is that much?” Her eyes are wide and angry. “You do know that the crisps were on a sale, four for three?”

“Yes, er-but that ham is still 14 alone. And you got seven packs of digestives along with…everything else. So its 40 and 20p. Oh! And do you have a bag? It’s 5p for the bags. You’ve got three he-”

The woman slams a sweaty handful of notes on the table in front of me, avoiding my outstretched hand. I scrape the bills up and count them out, slotting them into the register and counting out her change. “Right!” I say cheerily. “Here’s your change, cheers!”

The woman lets out a snort and walks out with her bags. I let my smile drop and sigh deeply. I’ve been working at Tesco for about two weeks now and I am trying to make the best of it. All I wanted was to make something myself, to try and live the quiet life the way I’m meant to. I’m tired of using Penelope’s parents to cover our utilities and not having money to buy my own basic necessities. I get my first paycheck tomorrow and I am honestly so relieved. I've never worked before, never had my own money. It's actually pretty exciting.

“We’re students. Parents are _supposed_ to help pay for you when you’re a student,” Penelope had insisted.

“You’re the student, not me. And I don’t have parents,” I corrected.

“Temporarily!” she snuffed, ignoring my comment about parents. “You’re only taking a _break_. You’ll be back as soon as things settle down!” I looked at her and let my breath out. There is no point in arguing with Penny. I don’t have the energy. I hardly see her as it is, and it seems like when I do that she is always pushing some new idea or plan on me. She thinks that my Tesco job is the most idiotic thing I could possibly be doing right now. Other than breaking up with Baz. She thinks that’s the worst thing I’ve done yet.

“You fucking idiot, do you realize what you’re throwing away? Baz ADORES you. And you’ve been obsessed with him for _years_.

“If he wanted to be here, he wouldn’t have left.”

“You TOLD him to”

“And he didn’t argue with me.”

“Because you broke his bloody heart. It’s _Baz,_ Simon. Did you expect him to plead for you? You’re both so bloody stubborn I can’t _stand_ it.”

I don’t like thinking about what happened. Penny seems to think that bringing it up every day will change my mind, will make me run back to Baz and beg for him to come back to me, but she’s wrong. Breaking up with Baz was the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life. Giving him up was harder than giving up my magic. At least when I did that, I knew that the only one I was hurting was myself. But I know it was the right choice, Baz just needs the chance to realize how much easier and better his life can be without me dragging it down. 

I don’t like thinking about that day, but my mind tends to drift there when I’m not actively preventing it from doing so. Could I have chosen my words differently? Is there some way I could have made him understood that breaking up with him was the only way I could show him how much I actually loved him? You don’t trap things you love and keep them for yourself. Keeping Baz was selfish, and I knew it. I knew it within days of losing my magic. I knew it when we left for America. I knew it when we came back, and everything else kept falling around us. The universe seemed determined to show us that nothing about us was right, but I just couldn’t let it go. Until I did. Keeping him was like having a beautiful flower pot that you keep locked up in your shitty London flat where no one else could see it, watching it whither from the lack of sun. Except I guess Baz would have liked being locked away from the Sun, he never liked it much. Maybe its not the best metaphor. I wonder if Baz would appreciate my comparing him to a flower pot? _You’re an idiot, Snow._ I imagine him smirking at me, grey eyes rolling before he leans forward to kiss me. I can feel thin cold lips on my neck, so soft I can barely feel it. I think about pulling him closer, about moving my hands down his back and-

“Simon!” I shot my head up at the sound of my name. One of my coworkers, Edith, is standing behind me holding her water bottle and ID card. “Heather told me to take over for you so you could leave.

“Thanks!” I force a smile, but my heart is pounding. I get like this sometimes when I let myself think of Baz. It’s a lot easier when I don’t think, but its so damn hard when I’ve been standing in the same spot scanning barcodes and pretending to give a shit about all the Normals and their snotty children and their coupons.

“Simon, are you busy tonight?” Edith is looking at me still.

“Eh?” I pried at the magnetic name tag on my shirt and pulled the pieces apart, tucking them into my trouser pockets.

“I was just wondering, a few of us are getting drinks at The Chequers after closing. They do half price pours on Tuesdays.” She wrings her hands together, casting her eyes to my shoes. Edith has the roundest face I’ve ever seen on a person. Her eyes are bright, crystal blue, and lively. She sort of looks like she knows the funniest secret in existence but can’t tell anyone, so she just lets it dance there behind her eyes. I think Penny would hate her.

“I could, I mean-I don’t really go out much,” I start. I don’t actually go out at all. Penny’s probably not going to be home tonight again, and the spell she cast on my wings will probably wear off in next hour.

“Well, if you change your mind, we go every Tuesday around 10. It’s usually me and Jackson and Kelly, sometimes Mary and Ellen go too.”

“Thanks, I’ll think about it.” I give her a half smile and raise my hand up. “See you tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow’s my one day off actually! Gonna go see my gran in Windsor.”

“Is your Gran the Queen?”

The joke falls flat. Edith studies me quizzically. “Right, um-guess if I don’t see you tonight-I’ll see you Thursday then?”

“Right.” I shuffle away from her awkwardly before grabbing a ready-made lasagna and a case of Magners. I take my things to Jackson’s lane before hurrying home. I like Jackson, he’s good for not making much conversation when you don’t want it. He nods at me while I grab my case and my dinner, and I give him a half smile before heading out.

I think my favorite part of working at Tesco is the walk home. Even when its miserable out like today, it feels good to breath in the cool air. I spend almost all of my free time in the flat, and the less Penny is there the filthier it seems to get. Penny’s not exactly a neat freak, but her spells keep things from getting too grody at least. I don’t really like living somewhere that smells like stale cider and moldy clothes, but I just haven’t gotten around to taking out the recycling bin or washing the mountain of socks and t-shirts that live on my bedroom floor. The walk home is nice, and even in the city I like the way that the air smells _open_ and crisp. I don’t even have my coat on even though its November, I like the way the cold prickles my skin and cools my blood. It’s definitely cold today, cold enough so that my breath makes a small cloud in front of me when I exhale. My walk home is my one chance to empty my mind and not think so bloody much. It’s hard to think about all the things you’ve fucked up when your body is screaming for your full attention.

I step a bit quicker, following my regular path until I reach the intersection to Crown Street. My feet hover over the crosswalk before I come to a stop and turn left, away from the street that leads to mine and Penny’s flat. Fiona Pitch’s flat is about 2 blocks down Crown Street, after the library and Ernie’s Chippy. I know I shouldn’t get too close, but I do anyway. Because I’m an enormous fuck up and can’t be trusted to stick to my guns. Today will be the last day, and if I see him I'll know if its working. If he's happy. I just want to know that he's happy.


	2. Chapter 2

Simon

I do this every time. It’s wrong, it’s wrong, it’s so wrong. I’m torturing myself because I never actually see him, and honestly, I have no clue what I would do if I actually did see him, but my heart floats up to my throat and my stomach starts flipping and jumping over like a bloody gymnast anyway. There’s always a chance. I walk slower now, checking every corner for grey eyes. Black hair. My fingers itch and I can hear his voice in my head, scowling. _What exactly are you hoping to accomplish, Snow? You need to let it go, you Dimwit. Ended means ended. No freebie sneak-peaks._ I duck behind a bush when I reach the library. I know he spends most of his free time here. I know because before he took me here a few times in the early days on the pretense that you could get the best scones and coffee from the café inside.

“I just need to grab a few books for my paper. I’ve already looked up where they are, it should only take a minute. Then we can go to the café.” His voice had been tender, endearing. 

Baz had walked into the library like it was his second home, smiling at the clerks and weaving his way through the aisles. He let his fingers gently drag across a shelf of books, stroking their spines like they might disintegrate if he pushed too hard. After about thirty seconds, he plucked a thin red paperback with a photograph of a man with dark eyebrows and a no-nonsense mustache on the front of it. He cradled it in his left arm before taking a second book, thicker and blue with one of those fabric like covers that you see on older books. He opened it to the center, and I swear he actually _smelled_ the book before stacking it with the first and leading me out of the aisle to the desk.

We had gone to the café after that and he had bought me a scone with blackcurrant jam and whipped butter and clotted cream. I told him that I liked them with butter, but he insisted that the cream and jam was the proper way to eat them and he fixed half of scone for me, slabbing a dollop of cream and topping it with the jam. We had shared a pot of tea for two while I watched him thumb through the books, grey eyes furrowed and scanning the pages silently. His hair had fallen from where he kept it tucked behind his ears so it formed a curtain around his face and covering the book. He sipped the tea without letting it slurp at all (posh prat), and his eyes had darted across the pages, drinking in the words written on them. I liked watching him like this, warm and content with his books. We didn’t even have to talk or anything. We just existed in the same space and it had felt like home.

Well, mostly like home. I remember the thoughts creeping up in my mind and being too bloody selfish to pay attention to them. _He’s got so much ahead of him. He’s brilliant and you’re kidding yourself, thinking this will work._

I’d been better at ignoring it then. I’d just wanted it all _so bad_. I’d wanted him so bad. Not that I ever stopped wanting him but it got so hard pushing that voice away all the time and feeling everything, it was just easier just to let it win. And to not think about it.

The memory stings. I’m staring at the stone building beside the library now. I think its some sort of historical building because the stonework looks really old. I’d followed him out of the café that night, then pulled him over to the small alley between the two buildings. He’d started to grumble about the smell of the rubbish bags or some other nonsense but I’d stopped him by pushing against his hips with mine until we were pressed against the stone wall. I’d kissed him so deeply that I think I must have hurt his head pushing him against the stone like that. I remember feeling all the tension and rigidity melt through his lips as he kissed me back. His hands had wrapped around me and moved up and down my back for a moment before settling on my hips and squeezing tightly. I’d stopped kissing him and touched his forehead with mine, grinning as we caught our breath.

“The rubbish bins are what, love?” I’d smirked between breaths.

“Filthy,” he had practically wheezed. “Really Snow, couldn’t you have chosen to seduce me near something that doesn’t smell like 3-week-old kitchen waste and nappies?” His voice had been light, a small grin quirking up on the sides of his lips.

“Couldn’t wait, spent enough time watching you fondle books for the past two hours and I was starting to get jealous...”

“ _Fondle?”_ He sneered. “How exactly does one _fondle_ a book?”

I grinned and used my left hand to mimic cradling the spine of an invisible book while I drug my index finger across my lips, sensually licking the tip as it passed between where they parted. I let out an exaggerated moan then used the licked finger to stroke and turn invisible pages while rolling my hips around and fluttering my eyelids.

Baz shoved me off the wall, rolling his eyes deeply. “You’re disgusting, Snow.”

We’d left the alley holding hands, shoving into each other teasingly and me stealing kisses on his hair and neck whenever we had to stop at an intersection or crosswalk.

I’m not sure when it stopped being easy. Or at least when I stopped letting it feel easy. It felt like the more time passed, the more I kept hearing the voice. I just wanted it to _shut up_. I knew it was right, and that I was fooling myself trying to live this life with him. I needed to just move on and let myself be a normal, live a normal mundane life without him.

I’d squeezed two more miserable months out of him after we’d gotten back from America before finally getting the courage to let him go. There had been good moments in those two months, even times I felt like we might be alright and there might be some sort of future where it could still work out. But I know better now.

Now the shadows cast by streetlights seem like ghosts.

I lift myself from behind the bush and start to shuffle back towards my street. My hands are really starting to turn numb and I can’t feel my toes even though I’m wearing wool socks. I’ve walked about teen feet when a voice stops me cold in my path.

“What the actual fuck are you doing here?”

I turn around quickly to see a woman with a familiar white streak of hair and dark menacing eyes standing so close to me that I can feel her breath on my face. She takes her wand and stabs it into my chest, holding it firmly in place while her eyes scan my entire body.

“I, er-I just got off work and I needed something from the library? Guess it’s closed now though so I’m going home?” I say it like a question. Fiona Pitch makes me so bloody nervous, I can’t even string words together under normal circumstances but she’s holding her wand on my chest so sharply I can feel it bruising my skin through all of my layers of clothing.

Fiona stares down at me. There’s true venom in her eyes, like she’s thinking of different ways she could kill me without anyone finding out. The last time I’d seen her had been with Baz. She had poked fun at us, insulting him lovingly. She hadn’t looked like she actually wanted to murder me anymore and it had been a fucking relief. This side of her is much more familiar from our Watford days. “I can spell it out of you, you know,” she snaps.

“Please, it’s just-is he alright? I just want to know that he’s better. That he’s doing okay now.” I try to keep myself from stammering but I don’t even think she’s blinked once since she made eye contact with me. She does it now, with a sharp intake of her breath and while taking her wand and stuffing it back in her bag.

“You don’t even know, do you?” She looks tired now.

“Know what?”

She sighs loudly. “You obviously don’t know for a reason. Fuck off, Simon Snow. There’s nothing here for you.”

“What don’t I know?” I’m starting to get angry with her. She’s not making any sense.

“Basilton’s not here, you idiot. He’s gone.”

“Gone? Where did he go?” I’m confused. I know that Penny keeps up with Baz. I can tell when she’s been talking to him or about him because she gets quiet around me or doesn’t look me in the eye. She would have told me if he had gone somewhere though, right?

“That I won’t tell you. Now please stop creeping around my neighborhood before I have to call the bloody _normal_ police on you.” She turns towards her flat and starts to walk away.

“Fiona!” I shout back at her. “Where did he _go?”_

She ignores me, and I almost follow her but think better of it. Penny will know where he went. I just need to know, that way I can be sure he’s okay. Then I’ll go back to my life and everything will be _fine._

I don’t believe the thought, even as I repeat it to myself. _Everything is far from fine_ my mind says in Baz’s voice.

I start back down the street and towards home.

Baz

Lamb knows who I am.

My shit plan seems even more like shit now.

I followed him through the room, which is decidedly different from his Vegas residence. Things are less glam rock here and more colonial French American, if there is such a thing. Americans seem to think that a building from the 1960s is ancient, and that there is more value in erecting fluorescent lit supercenters than maintaining any worthwhile history they might have. New Orleans is a bit different though, with spiraling architecture and a musty elegance to it. My Uber ride here had driven me past massive houses and small charming ones on stilts. The colors are fascinating, bright blue and yellow and pink with columns and metal gates. I bet there is so much history in these houses, so many stories in the alleyways and dimly lit jazz bars that we pass. I’m sure New Orleans has its share of fluorescent Walmarts like every other part of this imprudent country, but I don’t see them in this part of town.

“How did you know where to find me?” Lamb is standing at an oak bar and pulling out a silver tray and loading it with two glass tumblers and a crystal decanter.

“How do you know my name?” I respond, trying not to show how uneasy I’ve begun to feel. How the hell did I think this was a good idea? This man made a show of demonstrating exactly how untrustworthy he was the last time I saw him. I should have counted myself lucky for getting away from him and then proceeded to make myself as scarce as possible. Then, it’s not like I have much else left to lose these days.

“How do you think I wouldn’t by now?” Lamb responded, pouring a dark liquid into each tumbler and offering one to me. Cheeky.

“No, thank you.” I’m not playing the game this time around, and I would rather not lose my composure in the midst of all of this. I need to stay in control.

Lamb raises an eyebrow and puts the glass to his own lips, swallowing a bit before replacing it on the silver tray. “I’m not trying to get you drunk, Mr. Pitch.” He says my name like it burns his tongue. "This is 30-year old aged Scotch. I have it imported."

“I don’t drink.”

“I seem to remember otherwise.”

What are we playing at? I need to get to the point.

“If you know my name, then what else do you know?”

“I know enough.”

He’s looking at my intensely, swirling the liquid in his glass. He’s not going to give me anything without me speaking first.

“I have a friend who knows…people. He mentioned that there were two places in the United States with large established communities. Las Vegas, and New Orleans. He mentioned that there was an estate house here that was known for its…exclusivity and…strangeness. He had also heard that in the fall there were meetings between the communities, hosted here.”

“It seems like you went through a lot of work to find me here.” Lamb leads me to a small sitting area with brown chairs upholstered in a red velvet fabric. I sit down. It’s not soft or well kept, and has a faint mildew scent. I try not to wrinkle my nose.

“Yes, well. I’ve thought about what you said before. I thought perhaps I could-learn from you. For a while at least.” I try not to let the uncertainty I’m feeling drip through my voice. He was always good at knowing when I was being dishonest, but after our last meeting I am hoping that the parts of what I’m saying that aren’t true are less important to him.

Lamb leans forward. He’s either very interested in what I am saying, or at least interested in something on my face. I reach up to touch my face in case he is staring at something out of place or smudged.

“What makes you think that I’ll help you, mage?” He’s still staring intently. Like he’s trying to peer into my soul. Or lack of soul.

“Because I’m asking you to. And because you betrayed me before, and you know it was the wrong choice to make.” I try to return his intensity, but I’m just so thrown off. I came here expecting to have the upper hand. He might be ancient, but he knows that my magic gives me an advantage over him. He saw what we did to the NowNext, he knows what I’m capable of. He _doesn’t_ know that I left my wand in England with the coven, and have access to almost none of my magic here.

“Where’s your mage friends and creature boyfriend in all of this?”

“They’re not here. Simon-” I try not to let my voice crack when I say his name, but I know Lamb catches the dip in my tone. “Simon and I aren’t speaking right now.”

“It would have happened eventually, mate. Better now than later. You can’t get too attached to anyone. You’ll outlive them all.” His eyes aren’t kind, but they’re not menacing either. He reaches for the decanter again and gestures towards me, offering me a drink for a second time. I wave my hand to decline.

“I’d rather not think like that.”  
  
Lamb squints one of his eyes and sighs deeply. “You’re tired. It’s been a long flight. Have you got somewhere to stay?”

“Yes, I booked a hotel in the city.”

“You’ll stay here instead. I’ll have you checked out and your things moved.”

“That won’t be necessary,” I start. But Lamb is looking at me like it wasn’t a request, and I close my mouth. I do need him, and being here might keep me closer to him.

“Andrea, could you show Mr. Pitch to the spare room on the second floor?” He wipes across his eyes, massaging his temples. “We’ll speak in the morning. There is a takeout menu in the kitchen and some leftovers we can have reheated for you if you’re hungry. You can let Andrea know if there is anything you need in your room.”

An attractive man with large hands and deep-set brown eyes approaches me with a piece of paper and pen. “I need your hotel’s address and room number, Mr. Pitch.” His voice is dry, there isn’t an ounce of kindness in it. “And your room key. I’ll fetch your things and check you out.”

I hesitate before scrawling the information down for him and shoving it back. A woman is standing impatiently in front of me and beckoning towards the staircase. I follow her, taking in my surroundings as I ascend the stairs. There are paintings on the walls of jazz musicians playing in cobblestone streets. There are several abstract pieces and a few portraits. The artwork doesn’t match with anything, but then nothing here really seems to follow any consistent theme, unless that theme rustic eccentricity.

The room I’m led to is larger than I expected, with a canopy bed and an ensuite with a claw foot bathtub and basin style sink. It’s lovely, but I’m too exhausted and overwhelmed to think of it at all. I drop myself onto the bed and grab a pillow to groan into. What exactly was I expecting when I came here? To find answers? 

Seeing Lamb again brought everything that had happened in America rushing back. I don’t know if I expected him to welcome me with open arms or to ignite me on the spot, but I’m laying on a bloody canopy bed in his estate house in New Orleans so I’m completely at his mercy in the morning once he decides which is the better option. I can’t even make myself care about that because I’m thinking about Simon fucking Snow and how the last time that I saw Lamb he had been so angry and jealous that I thought he might actually go off like he used to, magic or no magic.

Am I here because it would make Simon furious?

No. I’m here because I might not have a choice between the world of mages and the world of vampires much longer, depending on the agreement that my family and the coven comes to. And because I know fuck all about the world of vampires and it would likely benefit me to have an idea how to function in this world if I don't have magic or the Pitch name.

 _And because of Simon_ the voice reminds me. And because of Simon, I agree with myself.

When I first realized that I was in love with Simon at Watford, I was able to accept being miserable. Being with him was an elaborate fantasy my brain had conjured up and while my feelings were completely real, they existed completely in that fantasy world where I knew that they would never be realized. Until they were.

Now, sitting across the Atlantic Ocean on a canopy bed in a vampire’s estate house, I am still thinking about Simon Snow. But this time it is _so much worse_. This time I know what it feels like to kiss the moles on his neck and to run my fingers through his curls. I’ve smelled him up close and I’ve slept with his arms wrapped around me. Everything that I thought I felt at Watford was so trivial. Erotic fantasies about blood and tangled naked limbs full of furious energy. My real life with Simon had been soft. Sometimes a bit erotic, but never rage fueled or bloody. I loved him. I think he loved me too, at least a little. I couldn’t even be angry when he finally told me to leave. We had faded away, soft and quiet.

I always thought we would end in flames, but it wasn’t like that at all. We just ended quietly and went our separate ways, me pretending that I hadn’t just lost the one thing in my life that I had believed in since I was eleven years old.

I’m walking and speaking, but it feels like no matter what is on my mind or what I am talking about there is an enormous hole directly in the center of my gut that wrenches and twists and causes everything else to seem like background noise. I can’t even think about the coven, or Nicodemus, or how everything seemed to unravel so quickly after I stopped holding it together. Simon left, and my world kept coming undone but I couldn’t even focus on the other bits because I was so consumed with losing him.

I light a small fire in my palm now, gazing into it carefully. There is some magic that I can do without my wand, but not very much. It’s comforting to know that I have this at least. A place to start. Or end. The fire dances in my palm gently, whipping and straining itself until I let my magic douse it.

I fall asleep like that, draped over the bed on top of the covers and it’s a quiet and peaceful sleep with no dreams at all.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the long wait, but the holidays make editing a bit tougher than I expected! Here is an extra long chapter, the next update should be out soon as well!
> 
> Please leave comments to let me know what you think of the story! Thanks for reading :)

Simon

Dr. Wellbelove is typing furiously on his computer while I sit shirtless on his examination table, wings spread out. I’ve had my arse sat on this crinkly paper for about twenty minutes while he looks over my x-rays and complete a physical examination of my wings and tail. It feels surreal being here finally, like everything that happened in my past life is finally coming to an end. I’m not sure why it’s been so hard to decide to finally get rid of these. I guess they sort of feel like a natural part of me now, even though I wasn’t born with them. That and they’re all that’s left of my magic. It doesn’t matter, though. They drive me mental most days and I can’t even go to work without Penny spelling me first, and Penny seems too busy for me most days now.

I know she tries not to be, but since we’ve been back home and since the start of the war, she’s been spending more and more time with her mum, attending coven meetings, drafting up solutions and sitting on committees. “Simon,” she tells me. “Nothing has _changed_. We need to help come up with a strategy to save the world of mages!” And so on.

Except it’s not my world anymore, is it? I fit more in with the creatures than I do with the mages. I went with Penny to a few of her committee meetings in the beginning. I even went to the first coven meeting when it all started to happen and we had just gotten back from America. I went with her and Baz. I was in there surrounded by the coven members and flanked on either side with Penny and Baz and I kept thinking about the last time I had been in that room. How I’d had to relive all of it, word for word. Everything that happened at White Chapel with Eb and the Mage. I kept trying to listen to what everyone in the meeting was saying but I couldn’t think about the London vampires or how there had been dark creatures in the library at Watford, or how Nicodemus Petty had been hounding the coven and sending threats through the news and involving some of the students at Watford about letting him visit his sister’s grave.

Baz hadn’t wanted anything to do with the meetings either. I think he sensed how it all bothered me. He’d tried to take my hand while we were standing there and I’d yanked it away as if he had burned it. I’d regretted it immediately afterward because holding his hand might have given me something to focus on that wasn’t the image playing over and over in my head of the Mage falling down in front of me. I had turned to look at Baz and wanted to reach back out for him but I just _couldn’t._ I was frozen in place with this fucking picture playing over like a looped video, my words echoing over and over again.

_Stop hurting me._

Everything the coven members said sounded like it was underwater. I felt my breaths getting shorter like the water was filling my lungs too, then sloshing around in my head and stuffing my ears.

The meeting had adjourned and Penny had to shake me to get me to realize it was time to go. Baz was standing off to the side with that awful sad look he gives me. I _hated_ it when he looked like that; like I was some sort of fragile lost child that he didn’t know how to care for. Like he doesn’t know how to act around me, how I’ll react to whatever he does. I wanted to push him out of the way so I couldn’t see his face anymore. I wanted to grab him and bury myself in his neck so that the only thing I could see or smell or feel was his hair and his skin. I wanted to scream. I needed to leave.

I kept quiet the whole ride home, and when we got back to the flat, I shut myself in my room without even saying goodbye to Baz or goodnight to Penny. Sheppard (who is currently living on our sofa) had tried to greet me when I passed by but I hadn’t even acknowledged him. There was too much in my head and I just needed to forget it all. Everyone knew that it bothered me but I know if I went to them that they would want to talk about it, and I just _couldn’t_ talk about it. Not then. Really not now either.

“Well, Simon. You’ve got a few options here,” Dr. Wellbelove starts, peering down at me through his wire-rimmed glasses. “We can completely remove the wings, but it will be quite an invasive surgery. The biology is incredible, it’s as if they’ve always been a part of your body. Removing them will be a bit like removing a limb. There will be a lot of pain and a long healing process, even after healing spells. You might even get phantom pains in the empty space where they were once they’re gone.”

“What other options do I have?”

“Well, you could hold off on the surgery…” he trails off and looks at me as if he isn’t sure he wants to continue. “You could hold off for a while and keep using spells to mask them. They really are remarkable, especially the wings. We could always remove the tail as it would be less invasive and painful overall, and leave the wings for a bit longer until you’ve had some more time to assess what you want.”

I frowned and jut out my chin. “I know what I want, Sir. I appreciate the concern but I’d rather stop bothering with them. I can’t cast spells to mask them and I won’t have Penny with me forever. I need to live a normal life.”

“Yes, I see. Simon…” he trails again like he is looking for the right words to say. “Simon, you know I still think of you like family? Even if you and Agatha aren’t…together. We always cared about you regardless of your relationship with her.” He’s using that look now that people always give me when they’re feeling sorry for me about the mage or my magic. I want to be mad but Dr.Wellbelove was always kind to me, even before I started dating Agatha. Christmas with the Wellbeloves was the one time in my whole childhood that made me feel like I had a real family. He never felt like a father to me, but he and his wife made me feel like I belonged somewhere back then. He reaches out now to touch my wing and I try to not to flinch.

“These really are remarkable, you know.” He’s holding a light and studying the membranes in them, the way they are almost transparent in the light and you can see the veins of blood weaving through them. “It’s hard to believe that they came about magically, I can’t know how you were able to create something like this out of…nothing.”

“Well it wasn’t from nothing though, was it?” I try to say it lightly. “It-along with everything else I did-tore holes in the universe that magicians will never get back. That’s my fault.”

His eyes are focused on me like he’s looking into the veins and membranes in my face like he did my wings. I feel even more naked in front of him, completely laid out open and bare. I just want to put my shirt back on and leave. “Simon. No one blames you for that, you know that. You couldn’t have known-none of us did.”

I let out a deep sigh. “Please, can we just schedule the surgery? I’d like it to be soon.”

He looks at me for a few more moments before sitting down in front of his computer and scrolling through his calendar. “Simon, if this is something you really want, I can have you come in two weeks from now on September 22nd.”

“Great, that gives me time to ask off work.” I’ve dropped this conversation to a different level of casual now. My voice is dry and professional.

He nods his head at me, and types on his computer some more before standing up to walk out. “Please let me know if you change your mind before the surgery, Simon. You can always get them removed in the future, but if we cut them out-they won’t grow back.”

Baz

The bedroom I am sent to is nothing like what I expected, regardless of the stories I’ve heard about New Orleans. I hadn’t minded the more contemporary hotel I had reserved further from the center of town, but this one is exquisite in a ransack way I have never seen before. The walls look like they were once painted with white plaster that has since peeled down to reveal a light brick foundation. The effect is charming, despite the rustic negligence. There is a crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling with small drops and jewels sparkling with light it emits. The bed is a four-post oak with a sheer white canopy draping gently at the top and a matching white duvet is cast across it with five plump pillows arranged against the back of the leather headboard. There is a brass floor length mirror I use to fix my hair in briefly, before walking towards the glass doors leading to the balcony. Outside is all black iron curls and twists, reminding me of the balconies you see above the streets of Paris.

The balcony looks over an atrium covered in plants and string lights. I see about 8-10 people lounging with drinks in the open air, laughing and mingling amongst each other. They have a familiar glow about them that I recognize from the vampires in Las Vegas. Lamb is in a corner still holding his whiskey tumbler, flanked by the woman who showed me up here and another man. His words are muffled by the laughter and mirth and the sound of a low standup bass playing from a part of the courtyard I can’t see from the balcony.

I did not come to New Orleans to meet Lamb.

I had only been here for maybe two hours when I got the call from Shepard informing me that not only would he most likely be in New Orleans, but that he had a residence he stayed in when he traveled there.

I came to New Orleans because it is the only place in the world where mages and vampires live amongst each other through an established treaty. Shepard’s forums seem obsessed with a Romeo and Juliet type love story between a prominent mage and the New Orleans vampire leader. He claims that even though the details he has found are probably not true, he has seen so much about them that they must exist or must have existed in some fashion or another. Considering I’m a bit like a bastard of both worlds with one foot tethered to magic and another one dragging through my damnable vampirism, Romeo and Juliet seemed like a place to start.

Even though the mages in America don’t have any type of magical council, in New Orleans they do have an established organization that manages the affairs of mages living in that city. At least they do according to whatever awful forum Shepard spends most of his time on. (It pains me to think that there are more Normals out there like him-obsessed with magic despite having no claim to it whatsoever). According to Shepard, for the past 35 years, the New Orleans Magician’s Council has honored a standing treaty between the vampires and the magical creatures living in New Orleans. He hasn’t been able to give me the details of the treaty, but it seems like both parties live freely in the city amongst the Normals and there haven’t been any notable breaches to the treaty or fights between the magical beings at all since its establishment in the 80s.

“It’s a city that has gone through so much historically anyway,” Shepard had chided. “I think the people there, magic or not, just want to find some kind of peace and common ground.”

I have to admit, I was not pleased when Bunce decided to bring the Normal back to London with us. He served his purpose and then some in America, but that is where he should have stayed. In America. Preferably with no earthly memory of what he had witnessed over the past few days. When she told me about his curse, I did everything not to laugh in her face. The markings on his arm were clearly of demonic origin and that is about as curable as my vampirism. The poor idiot’s soul is as damned as mine, and no amount of spell work and committee meetings is going to change that. Still, I’d be wrong if I said I didn’t enjoy his company at least a little bit.

The groups outside are moving more now, Lamb seems to be making his rounds throughout the clusters of vampires, touching people’s shoulders and laughing as they clank their glasses together. They all seem so relaxed and at ease with him and there is an unmistakable glint of admiration in the eyes of everyone he interacts with. I let my breath out and return to the room, trying not to shut the doors too harshly and damage the aging wood of the frame.

I spent the month leading up to our official breakup (was there even anything to break up at that point?) traveling between my family home in Oxford and Fiona’s flat in London. I went around to see Snow and Bunce several times after our trip, but once Shepard had taken residence on the sofa, Snow didn’t even want to be in the common area anymore. Whenever I came in the flat, his door felt like there were walls of stone standing in front of it, blocking the entrance. Everything in me wanted to turn the knob and let myself in. I could climb into bed with him, wrap my arms around him and just pretend that there was no outside world, only Simon Snow and I in a room that smells like moldy socks and old cider bottles. I wouldn’t even clean them up, I would just exist there in the space with him and nothing else would matter.

But everything else does matter. It always does.

After Snow’s breakdown at the first coven meeting that we attended, he grew even more distant from me. It felt like all of the memories I had from America belonged to someone else. Kisses in the bed of a truck and fireflies seemed like something my imagination had concocted back in Watford, except of course I knew it wasn’t. Most of my fantasies in those days involved less vampire hunting and boiling in the sun and instead included slick naked body parts moving with each other and my mouth on parts Simon Snow I’m sure he’s never dreamed that tongues and lips could go.

I try not to think about those things anymore.

I’d wanted nothing more than to comfort him but it felt like touching him made everything worse, like he burrowed even deeper into himself with every brush of affection I showed him. When I finally heard him use the words, I expected them. I didn’t even fight with him. I spent so many years telling myself that I could never have him that the few moments I actually did have him almost feel like some kind of blip in my memory. Miserable and pining are familiar in a wretched sort of way. I’m used to this pit in my stomach. To living with loving him and knowing he isn’t mine to take… I was foolish to ever think that it could be different. Simon told me to leave, so I left.

I just left.

Sheppard called to tell me about what he called the “Annual Brotherhood Summit” just two hours after I checked into my New Orleans hotel. He hadn’t been positive that Lamb would attend, but in hearing just the smallest details from him I was positive that he absolutely would. I have a tendency to barrel towards the worst-case scenario no matter what I do, so it makes sense that despite being on the opposite end of this wretched country I would end up in the same city as Lamb.

My first instinct was to get back on a plane and head towards London again, but then I remembered that there was nothing for me in London except the coven’s condemnation and Fiona’s empty flat. ( _And my family. My magic. And Simon.)_

I decided to seek Lamb out myself instead, and make sure our inevitable reunion was on my terms. Things are obviously going splendidly in that respect.

I try to let myself sleep on top of the white duvet without getting in the covers. The sound of laughter and the standup bass drift gently through the walls and I shut my eyes, letting myself breath them in and trying to ignore everything I’ve been thinking and feeling since I arrived here. I’m thirsty and anxious but sleep seems to be taking priority over everything else.

Yes, it was a mistake coming here. But I am going to make what I can of it and carry on until I get what I came here for.

Penelope

 **“You’re getting warmer,”** I spout as soon as I hear Simon’s key turning in the lock. The cups of tea that I made for us almost an hour ago have gone completely cold while I waited for him on the sofa.

It feels like I haven’t seen him in weeks for more than five minutes at a time. I know it’s my fault and I feel terrible. He’s never needed me more, and I’ve been so consumed I haven’t been able to help him.

Well, I keep telling myself it’s because I’m too busy with the committee meetings and with trying to help Shepard, but if I am being completely honest with myself…it’s been exhausting living with Simon this year. I don’t have another way to put it. It’s exhausting having him live like a pile of dusty bones and not being able to do anything about it. He won’t talk to me and he won’t let me help him. Seeing him feel like this siphons all of the energy out of me and makes me feel completely helpless. I’ve always been able to help Simon; I’ve always been able to fix every problem we’ve encountered. I can’t fix this and it has worn me.

Easier to focus on problems that I can fix. At least the ones I think I can.

Simon is coming through the door now and when I see him guilt rushes over me. How have I been able to neglect him so much? He’s still wearing that awful Tescos uniform and he has a bandage wrapped around his forearm where he must have had his blood drawn. The light behind his eyes is dim, but he lights up the tiniest bit when he sees me.

“Simon!” I smile cheerily, standing up and walking towards him. “Simon, I’ve made tea. I thought we could watch Star Wars and have pizza tonight?”

At first, I think he’s going to ignore me, but he stops and considers the cup of steaming tea.

“Where’s Sheppard?” He asks hesitantly, looking at the vacant sofa.

“Shepard is out for the evening; I’ve asked him to give us some time alone since we haven’t really had any in a while. He’ll be back by 9 or 10.

“Oh. You didn’t have to do that, I don’t mind Shep.” Simon looks at his feet and at first, I think he might not want the tea, but he takes it in his hand and sits on the sofa. I don’t hide my smile as I plop next to him.

“He’ll be alright for the night, Si. He’s with a group of Normals he met at Uni, he’s seemed to make friends quickly since starting there last week.”

It’s true. We both decided that enrolling Shep into a few classes would give him an excuse to stay here while I try to find out more about his curse. It also gives me something to do with him during the day because Crowley knows I’ve come close to spelling his head off a few times. I don’t hate his company, but he follows me around like a Labrador who’s imprinted most days. He’s always making me drinks and bringing me snacks and asking me questions. I know that it’s _nice_ but it’s also _annoying_. He’s trying to get me to let my guard down around him so he can learn more about magic and it’s driving me mental how much it is actually working. Just the other day he asked if I could spell away the mud that he tracked into the flat, and I did it _without even thinking about it_. Now he knows exactly what **Swab the Deck** does. It’s infuriating.

“Mmmmm, I haven’t had a proper cup of tea in ages Penny. Thank you. Really.” Simon is beaming at me and I feel a rush of warmth and guilt when I look at him. He needs this as much as I do.

 **“Come out come out wherever you are,”** I cast at the shelf of DVDs and Blu-Rays. I lift my hand up to catch _A New Hope_ as it barrels towards me.

Simon frowns at me. “Waste of magic,” he mutters.

“Nothing is a waste of magic. I didn’t feel like spending the next thirty minutes opening cases to see which one you stuck the disc in!” I try to make my voice sound haughty, but I’m smiling.

“It’s in its proper case!” He punches me lightly before getting up to slot the film into the Blu-ray player.

“Fortunately, yes. The same can’t be said for the poor _Fight Club_ disc. Or _Gattaca_ which I spent forty minutes trying to find. You put it in the case for _300_!”

“Yeah, well. At least it was _in_ a case.”

“I STILL haven’t found _300,_ Simon.”

“Right…it’s in my room? In my laptop I think,” he admits sheepishly. “Anyway, couldn’t you just cast ‘ **everything in its place’** to fix them? **”**  
  
“That’s not the point! Let’s just watch this,” I laugh. It feels _good_ to argue with Simon about movies. He flips through the film menu options while I start to punch our Dominos order into my phone. I don’t even need to ask him what he wants, we always get the same thing. It’s been ages since we have but I still have it saved as a favorite order.

“Hey, Penny?”

“Yes, Simon?” I don’t look up from my mobile. I’m typing in the numbers to my credit card now.

“Have you talked to Baz recently?”

I click ‘Order Now’ and look at him. He’s stopped flipping through the menu and is looking down at the remote, picking at the buttons with his nails.

“Not really,” I lie. He spots it immediately and frowns, squinting his brows together at me. I sigh deeply, mourning for the small moment of peace we almost had. I have spoken to Baz, and I really don’t want Simon to know about any of it. He’ll know eventually, of course. I want him to know but the keyword is _eventually_. Once we have some kind of solution in mind and once he’s come back to himself a bit more.

It was my idea for Baz to go to America, actually. Sheppard mentioned the community in New Orleans and it sounded perfect. The coven hadn’t come to an official decision about whether to officially inquire about his condition and I needed more time to work on my mother and convince her to drop her inquisition into the Pitches and Baz altogether. I know it’s getting harder for her the more news publications there are and the more messes Nicodemus and his fiends stir up. But those have nothing to do with Basilton.

I don’t feel the same way about Simon and Baz as I did about him and Agatha. When Simon and Agatha broke up, it felt odd but it was a complete relief. I know they didn’t love each other, at least not like that. They do love each other, but Simon never looked at Agatha like there was no one else in the room but her. He _always_ looked at Baz like that. Even when he hated him (or thought he hated him?) When Baz and Simon were together, it felt like some fucked up puzzle was finally fitting together. The pieces had always been there so when they slotted together, I’d not even been surprised. _Of course_ , they loved each other.

Of course.

The thing is, I think that Simon breaking up with Baz was the right thing to do on his part. He’s not _whole_ and he’s not Simon. Not really, not right now. I mean, he’s still him but it’s like he’s living in a shell of himself. I know he’s in there but he needs to come to terms with some things about himself.

I also know that right now, being in London and pining after Simon Snow is the worst place in the universe for Basilton Pitch. My mother told me that the vote to officially start an inquiry to his vampirism and the actions to follow if he’s proven to be one have been postponed again after Malcolm Grimm threatened to withdraw all financial support from Watford. That doesn’t mean it won’t be revisited and it doesn’t leave many more cards for the Grimms and the Pitches to play should the coven find another wealthy sponsor who is more averse to a vampire mage being the heir to the largest magical estate in England.

What truly shocked me was when she told me about his wand.

My mother hates vampires. She doesn’t hate Baz, but I don’t think she’s ever truly considered what he was until he spoke with her alone before leaving for New Orleans. She knew him as the Pitch heir and as the top student at Watford. When Baz left his wand with her, he told her that he trusted her to keep it until a solution was reached. He hadn’t confirmed or denied the accusations, he had just trusted her. I think it was simultaneously the smartest and most idiotic thing he has ever done.

First of all, how the hell is he functioning in America? Basilton Pitch is one of the most accomplished and brilliant magicians I’ve ever known. I’ve never seen him go a day without using spellwork to make breakfast or dress himself and now he’s all the way on the other side of the world completely helpless. It’s mind-boggling.

That being said, if I had approached my mother before in all sincerity and told her that Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch has been a vampire since he was bitten in his mother’s nursery, she would have gone against all of the evidence I have for his character and his role in saving the world of mages and she would have condemned him. Immediately. I still don’t know if she would accept his vampirism if she had no way of denying it, but I heard a level of doubt in her voice when she told me about it their talk that I had never heard in my mother before. She called me to ask me to tell her the truth about him. I denied it all, of course, I would never reveal anything about Baz’s identity unless there was no other choice. I hate lying to my mother, but I hope that in the end, it won’t matter. I don’t think she can reconcile the image of an evil vampire who also willingly gives up his magic without being asked to do so.

“You’re lying,” Simon says now. He looks so sad, and for a minute I just feel guilty because I know he’s only asking because he misses him. Because he loves him.

I let my breath out. “Yes, Simon. I’m lying. I’ve spoken to him.”

“I saw his Aunt Fiona, over near his flat.” He fumbles with the remote, flipping it between his hands.

I lift my eyebrows in surprise, not because I mean to but because I’m genuinely surprised. “You went by his flat?”

“Well, sort of. On my way back from work, I just wanted to see if he was in the library. Like he usually is. Fiona caught me…behind a bush. She said that he’s gone?” His voice trails off in such a sad way that I can literally feel my heart shattering for him. I really can.

“Simon, Basil is fine. He’s on holiday for a little while. He has some things to sort through.”

“Where is he?”

“I’d rather not say, Simon. Can’t we just watch the movie?”

“I-okay. Fine. Sure” He smiles, but there’s none of the mirth from earlier. I take his hand and

squeeze it to reassure him that I’m trying to _help_. He pulls his hand back.

“Let’s just start the movie, yeah?”

“Okay.”

I press play and pull myself closer to him. He tenses at first, but then I feel him relax against me. I hold onto him because I need to feel him and know that he’s safe and that he’s loved. He can’t forget that he’s loved.

Simon

Penelope is hanging on my arm and we’re watching Star Wars and it feels good to have her here. I’ve really missed her, missed her even when she thinks she knows what’s best for me more than I do. I know she knows where Baz is, but she’s not going to tell me now. I’ll just have to go about it differently. For now, I lean into her and just try to enjoy the moment and let myself imagine we’re back in school and things are normal again. I eat an entire medium size pizza myself and by the end of the movie, we’re reciting the lines at the same time as the actors and mimicking the lightsaber fights using the candles Penny’s mom sent us for her birthday. It’s goofy and familiar and actually really nice. I’m having so much fun with her that I almost forget what I was planning to do in the first place.

“Don’t eat all the biscuits while I’m gone, Simon!” She tuts while walking towards the bathroom. She’s left her mobile on the ottoman and I snatch it as soon as I hear the door click. I know her password, it’s always been the same.

I go to her messages first, looking to see if she’s had an exchange with Baz recently. There are messages from her mother, Sheppard, and Baz in her inbox. I’m about to click on the group of messages from her mother when a new one pops on her screen from Shepard.

Shepard [22:42PM]: He’s just texted me, finally. I was right about Lamb, and it looks like now he’s staying with him at a fancy mansion in the French quarter. Should we do anything?


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Sorry for the long wait on this chapter, the holidays make it impossible to work sometimes! Please let me know in the comments what you think, I'm hoping to get more regular about updating now that my schedule has evened out. 
> 
> Also, the previous chapter had some formatting issues that I've since fixed, sorry about that in the meantime!

Simon  
  


_“Come with me.”_

_“Obi-Wan once thought as you do. You don’t know the power of the dark side. I must obey my master.”_

_“I will not turn. And you’ll be forced to kill me.”_

“ _If that is your destiny-”_

Penny gives a loud snort and then her breathing steadies. We’ve worked our way through to Episode VI and I’m positive she’s asleep now. She’s drifted in and out since we started the third movie, but she’s been laying in the same position for about 25 minutes now and has been making these hilarious sleep snorts that make me want to record her for future blackmail.

I’ll resist the urge for now.

I move as slowly as my extra appendages allow me to, keeping my wings tucked and stilling my tail with my thigh while I reach over her for her phone. I only had about thirty seconds last time and it was not enough to figure out _where the fuck Baz is_. All I saw is something fucking Lamb and something French. Is he in Paris? Why the fuck is Lamb in Paris? Obviously, I am the only one thinking clearly in this scenario because that fact that Penny and Shepard aren’t in whatever quarter of Paris setting his pretty face on fire is clearly evidence that they’ve lost their bloody minds. 

I can’t tell Penny this, obviously. So I’ve resorted to sneaking.

Thank snakes Penny has had the same passcode since 3rd year. I throw her a quick glance to make sure my movement didn’t disturb her sleep before greedily stabbing the numbers onto the touch screen. It unlocks and I pull up her inbox. I hesitate before clicking on any of the messages, just a little bit. I mean this is a pretty obvious invasion of her privacy. But Penny won’t be able to understand why I need to know where Baz is. She’ll just go on about how I made my choice and need to focus on my own mental health and move on.

Well she’s not wrong in all of that. But it doesn’t matter. I need to know where he is just in case. If he’s off getting himself into trouble or feasting on the blood of a thousand virgins with fucking Lamb and his cronies, well then, I’m going to need to intervene. Just momentarily obviously to set things straight.

I make a mental note to make it up to Penny in the future and click on her messages with Shep first. Before the message I read earlier, the conversation still doesn’t tell much. It’s mostly few word texts, the wandering insult on Penny’s end, and a few references to phone calls. There’s nothing about Baz at all except the last text that I saw. I stifle a frustrated snort, and back out of her conversation with Shep.

Penny doesn’t have many people in her life, but her inbox is still slammed with conversations between people I didn’t even know she gave more than a few thoughts to. Before finding his name, I scroll past a conversation with Agatha, her mother, her father, some of her siblings, and several names I don’t even recognize which must belong to her committee members or research partners from Uni.

When I do find the name I’m looking for, my finger hovers over it before clicking. I feel a small pit of nausea as low in my stomach as it can possibly be, stemming into my legs and back somehow and causing my blood to run cool and hot at the same time. She’s written his entire name out in her phone, of course.

_Tyrannus Basilton G P_

I swallow and click on the conversation, starting at the bottom then scrolling up to when everything started.

July 7  
  
Penny [12:14PM] Lunch?  
Penny [12:16PM] BASIL  
Penny [12:18PM] I’m coming over  
Penny [13:27PM] BASILTON LET ME IN THE FLAT  
Tyrannus [13: 31] No.

  
July 9  
  
Penny [8:05AM] How are you holding up?  
Tyrannus [8:08AM] You mean since you forced your way into my flat and left with an abomination calling itself soup? Alive, thank you.  
Penny [8:12 AM] Food is always the best therapy!  
Tyrannus [8:12 AM:] I don’t need your therapy.  
Penny [8:13 AM] Well good. Then you’ll be happy enough to come to the pub with Shep and I tonight.  
Tyrannus [8:17 AM] Absolutely not.  
Penny [8:20 AM] We’ll be by tonight at seven!  
Tyrannus [8:25AM] I’ve spelled the locks so coming here is not in the best interest of your time.  
Penny [8:26AM] Fair enough.

July 21

Tyrannus [01:08AM] You know, I preferred it when you warned me before barging into my flat like that at least. But thank you for tonight.  
Tyrannus [01:012AM] Please don’t do it again.

July 22

Penny [6:04AM] I’d rather you not have the time to spell the locks again, thank you. Much easier to steal you away.  
Penny [6:12AM] Have you thought about what we talked about?  
Tyrannus [6:33AM] A bit.  
Penny [6:45AM] Coven is talking about it today, you know.  
Tyrannus [6:50AM] I’m aware.  
Penny: [6:55AM] What are you going to do?  
Tyrannus [7:01AM] Probably finish Oblomov tonight and then promptly ignite myself.  
Penny [7:01AM] BASILTON  
Penny [7:01AM] THAT IS NOT FUNNY  
Penny [7:01AM] TYRANNUS BASILTON GRIMM-PITCH  
Penny [7:02AM] I WILL

“Simon?” I drop Penny’s phone as if it’s on fire. Her eyes open up blearily. “What time is it?”

“Um. I dunno, one? Two?” I scramble for my own phone and touch it to light up the screen.

“1:47AM,” I spout. My face is hot and my breath is reeling. I’m hoping she’s too sleep drunk to notice.

“Simon, what is wrong with you?” She’s sitting up now, concern and confusion muddled on her face. Even half awake, Penny is annoyingly perceptive.

“I-nothing!” I spout. My face is growing hot. Why am I such a shit liar? “Let’s go to bed!”

I’m feeling the couch cushions looking for the remote so I can switch it off. Luke is helping Vader take his mask off. I hate this part anyway, he looks much cooler with the mask on and honestly, Vader’s switch from the dark side is sort of a load of shit. I mean, I know he’s Luke’s father and that he regrets his life or whatever, but does that one thing he does at the end really excuse all the people he killed? Why does he get a shot at redemption? Real people don’t always get that before they die. Sometimes people are just bad, and sometimes even if they could be more, they die before they get a chance to be that and-

_“Now, go, my son…”_

I wonder if The Mage could have had a redemption arc? Everyone keeps telling me he deserved what he got. I know they're right. I mean he killed Eb. But bloody Darth Vader made peace in the end, so maybe he could have to? I don’t get to know that. I brought this up with my therapist before I stopped with my appointments and she told me that real life is different than movies. I mean it is sometimes, but sometimes it isn’t, right?

Penny hits the stop button and returns the DVD to its title screen.

“Simon. Why is my mobile over beside you?” Her brows are furrowed and she’s shooting daggers at me. Shit.

“Couldn’t find mine and needed the time earlier,” I say. It comes out completely guilty.

Penny lifts her eyebrow (just the way Baz does) and snatches her phone from where it’s lying between us on the sofa. It unlocks and opens to the screen of messages between her and Baz where I had left off.

“Simon. Were you looking at my messages?” She doesn’t sound enraged-yet. She almost sounds nervous. Penny is right terrifying when she is mad. I’m the one who needs to be nervous.

“I-well, I just…”

“Use your words, Simon!” Her voice is growing now, a mixture of nervous incredulous rage.

“No! I mean maybe! I mean, fuck!” I bury my head in my hands before resolving defeat. “Penny, _where_ is Baz?”

“That is not your concern, Simon.”

“WHY is he with Lamb? Is he going to kill him? Are you all plotting together behind my back?”

“Simon!” Penny’s voice is at full height now and I close my mouth automatically. It’s impossible not to listen to her when her voice does that. **“Enough.”** She says it with magic and I cower, just a bit. I feel her words wash over me and my will starts to waiver, just a little bit. But then I see Baz in Vegas next to Lamb, laughing and drinking an alcoholic milkshake with stupid fucking Lamb next to him and I lose it. Stupid. Fucking. Lamb.

“NO!” I shout at her. If I had my magic the words would have been soaked in it. “I deserve to know, Pen. I need to know where he is! Did he go to him? Are they together now?” There’s anger now, but also desperation and I’m trying to hold my voice steady to keep it all from spilling out, but my words are getting ahead of my head now.

“I won’t do anything, I just need to know. I love him, Pen. I fucking love him and I need to know he’s okay. Or if he’s moved on already. Please tell me what is going on and I’ll let it go. You’ve been talking to him this entire time and not knowing is going to drive mental. Please.” My voice trails at the end, shouting expended and something else swallowing me whole.

I realize that I've never said it out loud before. That I love him. I didn't even know that I was saying it. Honestly, I haven't said that many words all at once in ages. I also realize that it's all true, that I do love him. But also that it doesn't matter and that loving him is sort of the reason I've let this happen in the first place.

“Si…” her voice is tender now. “Okay, Simon. I’m going to tell you, but you have to promise me that you’re not going to do anything stupid.”

“Mmph,” I grunt in response.

“Simon, that’s not a promise. I need to hear you say it.”

“Fine! I won’t do anything stupid.”

“Promise?”

“Promise!”

She sighs. Then she starts at the beginning.

Baz

I’m pretty sure there’s alcohol in this abomination sitting in front of me. I’m sitting in the shade of an outdoor café in downtown New Orleans, dressed in a casual blue button up with grey slacks. In front of me is what appears to be a large canning jar full of red liquid and an entire meal on skewers sticking out from it. There is a jalapeno wrapped in bacon and some sort of fried… _thing_. There are a few shrimp tails and a lot of green leaves and…bits. For lack of a better word.

“Is this a meal or is it a drink?” I say this frowning, trying to convey exactly how disappointing I find this to be in lieu of the breakfast that I was promised.

“You can’t tell me you’ve never had a Bloody Mary!” Judah is beaming. He’s got a matching monstrosity in front of him and has already downed half of it and eaten the shrimps and the fried item.

“Never one like this,” I say. Sometimes Father had a Bloody Mary in the morning after a late dinner party. But never accompanied by the entire fucking garden.

“It’s a New Orleans specialty!” He exclaims, taking a long sip.

It seems like I’m not going to get away with sobriety here. I should have known better, considering the company I planned on keeping. I suppose if I am planning to get close to the residents and learn more about the community as a whole, I can’t keep avoiding their hospitality. I reach down to the cup and take a small sip.

The flavour is surprising, spicy and savory. It tastes like cold tomato soup with an array of seasoning reminiscent of Peri Peri. I take another sip, longer this time. I can’t even taste the alcohol but I can smell it, just barely masked under the heavy coat of tomato and seasoning.

“Interesting,” I finally say.

He gives a short laugh, returning to his drink and pouring over the menu. “I never know what to get here, but you really can’t go wrong with Eggs Benedict! Oh my god, smoked salmon! Maybe I should get that? AH!”

I can’t say he’s what I expected when I woke up this morning. He didn’t knock at all, he barged into my room with coffee and a pile of fresh towels. I’m not sure what it was I actually had expected, but it certainly wasn’t a shirtless man with long sandy hair pulled into a bun and a full matching beard standing above me with hot coffee and fresh towels.

After I showered and changed, he had been waiting for me, pulling me to a small café two blocks from the house I stayed in. We ordered an array of breakfast food, Eggs Benedict and hot Beignets with chocolate syrup. It’s ridiculously good and I eat quickly, suddenly realizing how hungry I actually am.

“So,” I say now. “Lamb wants you to _show me around_?”

“Yep!” He responds. “Told me that you met before, that you’re young, and that the two of you have had a rocky beginning. Seemed to think that you might feel more comfortable with someone closer to your age.”

I raise my eyebrow at this. “How old are you?”

He laughs. “Don’t you know its rude to ask a lady her age?” His eyes are green, but the type of green that looks brown at the same time. He’s got smile lines in the corners of his eyes and if I had to guess based on looks alone, I would say he was maybe twenty-five. I know better than that, of course.

“Perhaps, but I see no lady. How long since you’ve been what you are?” I emphasize the ‘what’, trying to exhume a mountain’s worth of confidence I don’t actually possess.

“Incredibly sexy? Probably since puberty if I had to wager. Although in the seventh grade there was a point that I was dating two girls and one guy and none of them had any idea about the other-”

I groan in exasperation.

“Fine. I’m 35. Actually 35. I was turned about ten years ago, so I guess I’m perpetually 25. The American dream!”

So not old at all. Compared to some of the others I’ve encountered, Judah is probably the closest to me in age that I’ve met. And technically I’ve been a vampire for longer.

He’s also one of the best looking vampires I’ve met in a dingy hippie way that I can't make my mind up about. He’s got gold hair that would probably reach his arse if he let it down pulled into a layered bun with loose pieces falling out and framing his face. Objectively he’s a bit like the type you would use to fuck away your sexual frustrations with and then feel disgusting afterwards- like you’ve been crawling through organic dirt and drinking fish oil. He has one of those awkwardly fit bodies, all cut muscle and no soft corners. He’s wearing a charcoal v-neck t-shirt and simple jeans. He smells a bit like incense and natural oils, like he took a bath in tea tree oil and lavender.

“How about you? Lamb said you were very young, but he didn’t mention how young?”

“Twenty-four,” I lie. Being under twenty-one in America could prove inconvenient. And I need to up my credibility up the tiniest bit. I take another sip of the drink, noticing the effects of the alcohol now just a bit. “I was turned as a child.”

“Wait, so you’ve been aging your whole life? I didn’t even know that was a thing!” His eyes grow wide with excitement. “Everyone I’ve met has stayed pretty much the same, but then we’ve all been turned as adults too! I wonder what that means?”

“When you find out, be sure to let me know.”

“What does your sire say?”

Ah. So Lamb hasn’t told him much at all, has he? Does he know about my magic? Likely not. “I don’t have one,” I say carefully.

“What do you mean you don’t have one? Who turned you? God, if you say you were a child then they probably are a douche canoe. I mean that goes against all laws and creeds anyway, must have been a weird situation.”

“’I’d rather not get into it.” I keep my voice short. “It was an accident, I believe. And everyone involved died except for me, obviously.” 

“So…who took you in?”

I don’t like opening up this much to strangers. I feel laid out and bare in front of this value menu American Thor. I’ve spoken more about myself in the last few minutes than most people in my life have ever heard. But I am here for answers, and I likely won’t get any if I don’t give them something to go on.

“I lived with my father,” I say slowly. “I managed.”

“So, you’re telling me that you were a bloodthirsty toddler running around with human parents, no guidance, and you’ve made it this far?” He’s looking at me with new eyes now and I’m not sure if he’s fascinated by me or just pities me. I would prefer neither, so I try to change the subject.

“I manage. Tell me about the alliance here with the mages.”

“Woah, touchy subject then. Noted. What alliance?”

“I’ve heard rumors that the relations here are…different than London. Calmer, that there’s a truce.” I try to keep my voice neutral, inquisitive but not desperate.

“You’re talking about Stella and Jules?” He raises an eyebrow.

“Who are Stella and Jules?”

“Power tribe, big shots. She’s a Speaker and he’s been in New Orleans since the French.”

So they do exist.

“That is likely to whom I am referring to, yes.”

“I try not to get too into all that political bullshit if you know what I mean. All I know is that for the most part mages don’t bother us and we don’t bother them. Both of us try to not take down the Talker population too much and things stay simple. Everyone knows that if they do, Stella and Jules will have someone take care of it. It’s relatively peaceful I guess, compared to what I’ve heard it’s like in other parts. Is it true that the mages in London just kill you based on your fangs alone?”

I ignore his question and push to find out more about the mages. “Do they mix here? Do other mages form relationships with us?”

“I mean, I guess? I’ve known a few people to get involved with magicians. Spells make the sex fantastic from what I hear, and they have ways of covering accidents up when necessary. There’s animosity sometimes I guess, but we tend to run in the same circles.” He takes another beignet from the now dwindling pile and stuffs the entire thing in his face. It makes me think of Snow and my heart stings a bit. I tuck the feeling away with another gulp of alcoholic soup.

“Could I meet Stella and Jules?”

He looks at me with wide eyes. “You’re joking, right?”

“I am not,” I say steadily.

“I mean; they’ll be the party, I guess. That’s why everyone’s here at the place you know. Lamb and them. But actually talking to them is pretty exclusive if you know what I mean?”

I’ve always been good at exclusive.

“The party on Thursday? I plan on attending as well. Have you known Lamb for long?” I ask.

“Nah, he comes around once every two or three years. He doesn’t really like it here; says we desecrate the purity of our people or some shit. But he knows how to make nice and he keeps things pretty civil for the most part. I always liked him though, even when he kicks me ass playing poker.”

Somehow, I can imagine Lamb and Judah sitting around a dimly lit dusky room with poker cards. Of course, Lamb would be a good card player, he’s a brilliant liar.

\--

Judah pays the bill and leads me away from the restaurant and down a street crowded with people. It’s only one or two in the afternoon but there are people everywhere and it seems like the vast majority of them are completely hammered. There are people spilling out of buildings wearing colorful beads and hats. People walking carrying all sorts of drinks and street food and people singing and shouting and music pouring out of every building. It makes me think of the Vegas strip but somehow less open and more crowded and a bit wilder.

I can feel magic pouring out of the streets. It’s a dark magic that pricks at my skin. I have a sudden urge to hold my wand and the knowledge that I can't turns my mind into a whirlwind of senses and feelings. The magic here feels foreign and I’m not entirely sure where its source is, there are so many people here and so many sounds and smells that it all mixes together. My breathing is getting short, it’s almost too much. The sounds are growing and my senses feel stronger and weaker all at once, like I can see and hear and smell everything but there’s so much everything that I can’t tell the difference.

“Hey, you okay?” Judah puts his hands on my shoulders. They’re warm, warmer than mine. Courtesy of human blood I’m sure.

“Fine,” I snap, pulling away from his touch.

I would be lying if I said there wasn’t a part of me that considered following him to a side street and pushing all memories of Simon Snow away with my mouth on this scraggly muscled idiot. He would let me, I can tell. He’s been reaching out for me since we first left and he’s mentioned his sexual “fluidity” more times than I can count. My body seems to be acting on its own accord and I’m thinking about blood and sex and everything all at once.

I take a deep breath, tea tree oil and incense filling my nostrils. It makes me feel nauseated. But maybe that’s the thirst making me feel that way. There are hundreds of people around us, and I am suddenly hyper aware of the different smells mixing with each other.

Magic. Blood. Tea tree oil.

“You need to sit down?” He has completely ignored my reaction to his touch and has grabbed both of my hands, pulling me to an open table at another street café.

“I don’t like being around this many people.”

I haven’t really thought about drinking here and how I’m going to manage it. I doubt that even the great Stella and Jules will think highly of my diet, but getting blood drunk on humans my first day was hardly the plan when I arrived.

“I think I need to go lie down,” I stand up and start back in the direction of the house.

“You need a drink, man. You look kinda like shit.”

“Thanks.”

“I mean you’re still dead hot,” he grins. “Literally.” He’s standing too, and standing much too close to me. He’s flexing his biceps and breathing on my face. It’s not comfortable, it’s not enticing. It makes me want to vomit and I’m not sure why. I keep seeing Simon’s face in front of me, Simon’s stupid eyes and Simon’s fucking wings.

“You’re hilarious,” I sneer. “Thank you for the tour and for the alcoholic garden, but I think I’m going to take a nap.”

“Tonight then!” He shouts at me, as I’m pushing through the crowds of people holding my nose with my hands. The smell is getting to be overwhelming and if I don’t drink soon, I might slaughter half of Bourbon Street. “I’ll come by this evening and we can have drinks!”

“Fine, see you then.” I shout back before hurrying away.


	5. Chapter 5

Baz

It's unnerving how quickly I fall into a routine.

I spend most of the day sleeping. The Louisiana sun is relentless even in autumn, and most of the other home inhabitants tend to follow the same natural schedule that my body wants to. Sometimes Judah wakes me up earlier so he can drag me to a new bar or restaurant or to see a music act. Sometimes I wake up and take my morning (evening) slowly, snacking on the pastries and crisps I’ve stocked my room with and venturing out on my own to explore when it seems like no one is paying attention to me. I find small squirrels and birds to drain in the park most nights, but it is getting increasingly difficult to explain why I never want to drink with Judah or any of the others. There are normals wandering around here day and night, most in a sort of daze with bite marks covering their bodies. I have to keep myself fed well so the sight of them doesn’t cause my fangs to drop whenever I pass through the atrium. I’m not sure if the others here know much about me, but I’ve tried to give the impression that I’m a rather private person and enjoy hunting in private. Which is true.

Things that I’ve learned since arriving in New Orleans:

  1. The music here is brilliant. I’ve found jazz shows, alternative bands, indie musicians, singer-song writers, hip hop artists, and even music that seems to supersede genre. There is live music in every corner of this city and it makes wandering through it with a vain vampire idiot all the more enjoyable.
  2. Beautiful things are less beautiful without Simon in their vicinity. I see him in every café, lingering on the streets, grinning at the musical performances, and mixing into the crowds of people. Simon would love it here-which makes it hard for me to love it. But also impossible to hate it.
  3. There’s more magic to being a vampire than I previously realized. For example, the act of turning someone requires intention, just like spell work. There is also a magical bond between a vampire and the sire that turned them. This has implications for myself that make me more than a bit uneasy, like how the vampires that invaded my nursery had to have intentionally tried to turn me rather than just drain me. Did the mage ask them to do that? Was there something about me that made them want to turn me? It also means that if my sire had lived, I would have been drawn to them like a parent, despite my feelings about my mother’s death. Thankfully, my sire is dead and so it’s not a thought process that will get me any answers in the end.
  4. “Grits” are disgusting. Even with cheese. Especially with cheese.
  5. No one seems to know that I am a mage, which means Lamb has been purposefully keeping my secret. I am not sure if he is doing this out of kindness or as a type of leverage, but I’m sure I’ll figure it out sooner or later.
  6. My family misses me-at least a little bit. Mordelia has discovered texting on the iPad my father and Daphne bought her for Christmas. She sends me weird selfies and demands about when I’m coming home. She doesn’t seem to know where I actually am. Fiona has called twice and my father even sent an email with an update on the latest coven meetings and the address of a family friend who lives in Louisiana.
  7. Vampires don’t call themselves vampires. They use a wide array of words to describe our kind, but there doesn’t seem to be a single word that describes them as a whole that’s not considered offensive. It makes asking questions difficult at times.
  8. New Orleans is full of magic. Old magic, especially. And I miss it more than I can stand.



I’ve never gone this long without casting. Ever. Leaving my wand seemed like a good idea at the time. I would rather temporarily trust Mitali Bunce with it in the hopes of gaining some semblance of support for the inevitable day that the coven finally decides whether or not snapping it and completely banning me is the best way to deal with the Pitch heir. I don’t know if it’s a decision I would have made if I had been in my rational mind. I don’t know if any of my decisions that brought me here were good ones, giving up the wand, flying to Louisiana, being in a house full of fucking vampires.

Not having my wand has been a bit like trying to live a normal life without my right arm. I’m functioning, I’m getting by-but it’s physically painful to feel the magic under my skin and not be able to do anything about it. I have a few small spells I can cast without a without a wand, mainly fire ones-so when it gets to be too much, I practice lighting and extinguishing flames in my palms until the magic has finally tempered and settled into a manageable roar in my stomach. It makes me think of how Simon was always overflowing, how his magic bubbled over the surface of his skin and how it filled the air around him.

There’s that too-thinking of Simon.

I’ve never been one to _not think_. Simon used to say he didn’t think about things at all when they hurt too much, that he tucked his memories away somewhere they couldn’t hurt him and that they just stayed there. I can’t exactly do that, but I have managed to ration the times I let myself think about Simon.

As long as I’m distracted, as long as I surround myself with music and drinks and the chaos that is this city, Simon’s face and my heart just settle into my stomach and keep a silent watch over everything else. The pain is still there, the longing definitely is-but it’s sort of like a background picture that only truly hurts when I let myself look at it. Which is when I’m alone.

Alone like right now. I can’t be bothered to follow Judah into another jazz bar tonight, or to try another sweeping tour of the walkable parts of the city. I’m taking advantage of the gorgeous clawfoot tub in my ensuite and giving in to everything I’ve been trying to avoid these last few weeks.

I haven’t heard from Simon at all. I know I shouldn’t have expected to, but some small part of me was hoping that him finding out about where I was (surely Bunce has told him) would cause some kind of emotional response that would lead him to reach out-even if just to berate me for being in the same city as Lamb. (I haven’t even seen Lamb since the night I arrived, but still. He doesn’t know that). But there’s been nothing from Snow, or even Bunce and the American since they checked on my arrival almost a week ago.

I’m sure they have more important things to take care of. I’m sure Snow is off enjoying setting up his bloody _normal life_. As if anything about him could ever be _normal_.

I’ve run the water as hot as it goes and filled the tub up to the brim. They don’t have the same product brands that I normally use here, but I’ve managed to stock up on a few similar ones from the shops a few miles away. The water feels heavenly and being completely immersed in it makes me feel properly warm for the first time in ages. The only other time I feel this warm is when I’m pressed against Simon.

It’s pointless to push the thoughts away, so I let myself relax into them instead. I shut my eyes and run my hands down the length of my body under the water, imaging that it’s his hands running down me. My skin is slick with the soapy water and almost warm. The mirrors have fogged up and I can hardly see in front of myself for all the steam drifting about. It’s perfect.

I’ve got a dreary playlist on because if I’m going to be morose and dramatic I may as well do it properly. Elliott Smith is strumming in my ears while I dunk my head in further and further until my ears are just above the surface of the water, my hair splayed around and floating around me like a dark curtained halo. I keep running my hands down my stomach and over my thighs, stroking softly and humming along with the music.

I always feel a bit sad, but I don’t usually just allow myself to feel properly sad. The ache in my chest settles comfortably into my muscles and I let it pass through every bit of me, twinned with both memories of months spent with Simon and a mourning for months I’ll never have.

The sound of my bedroom door slamming and heavy footsteps outside the ensuite knock me out of my head and cause me to yank my head up so quickly that I drag a wave of bathwater with it onto the floor. Brilliant. “Hey Baz,” the voice calls. “Are you in here?”

I could set him on fire right now and no one would know it was me. “Fuck off, Judah,” I snap loudly.

He pokes his head in and grins. “Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt your pity party here,” he chuckles nodding towards my phone which is playing _Two Slow Dancers_ by Mitski which is probably only slightly less depressing than the Elliott Smith that was playing earlier.

“You fucking numpty, do you have _no_ concept of privacy in that thick head of yours?” I snap at him, pulling my knees to my chest to hide myself. He always walks in like this, no warning, no knocking. I would swear he’s been _trying_ to catch me in some inappropriate state for his own viewing pleasure. Or maybe he really just doesn’t understand why anyone wouldn’t be okay with his unannounced presence.

He hides his eyes now with his hand as if he didn’t just guffaw at me for twenty seconds previously, and gives me a thumbs up. “Sorry man, but I needed to come get you. Couple guys downstairs want to talk to you.”

“Brilliant. You couldn’t have texted that?”

“Nah, this is more fun.” He parts his fingers and peaks through them, and I launch a wave of bathwater in his direction with the hand that is not still hugging my knees to my chest. It barely reaches him, and he lifts an eyebrow flirtatiously. Disgusting.

“Get. Out. Now.”

“Fine, fine. We can ravish each other later,” he winks while stepping back.

“Crowley. I think _not_ ,” I scoff. He’s been making these sorts of jokes ever since he found out that I was gay. He’s pansexual and relentlessly flirts with anyone with a pulse (even a slow one like mine). He’s left me alone in the city twice after finding a hookup, but has been especially focused on me since two nights ago when I made the poor drunken decision to confide a sliver of my personal life to him. I barely mentioned Simon, only that I had been in love and that moving on has been a challenge. He informed me that challenges were his specialty, and that getting me to move on was now his number one task.

I don’t _want_ to move on from Simon. But I haven’t told him that. I’ve just rolled my eyes and thrown a convenient insult over every time he mentions the idea of me with him or any other poor man we’ve passed.

I will say there have been moments, (usually several drinks in) that I’ve considered taking him up on one of his (many) offers just for the sheer distraction. I haven’t (I’m lonely but I’m not desperate-and I’m still not attracted to vampires) but it would probably do me some good to find someone to take my mind off of Simon Snow.

Judah is a necessary evil, unfortunately. I would try to rid myself of him completely, except I’m fairly certain he’s been tasked by someone in charge here of keeping an eye on me, and I don’t think I could shake him as long as I decided to stay here. Besides, he’s been a fountain of information, and despite his unwanted advances I do occasionally enjoy his company and the places he’s shown me. I’ve found that with Judah, the crueler my remarks are-the friendly he seems to respond. It’s infuriating, but it gives me an outlet at least.

“Hurry up and come to the atrium, okay? I’ll meet you down there.”

I grumble a bit and dunk my head into the water for a last time. So much for my plans to luxuriate in my own melancholy for five fucking minutes.

Simon

Penny is still not speaking with me. I mean she’s here, so obviously she’s not _that_ cross-but she didn’t really have much of a choice in that. After I found out about Baz I gave Tescos my week notice and started planning out how to find my way to New Orleans.

Yeah, I know it’s not the best plan. I know I broke up with him, and that his life isn’t really my business now. Penny’s told me all that loads of times.

But from what I understand, he’s alone in a new city _without his wand_ and surrounded by fucking vampires.

“He is a vampire, Simon!” Has been Penny’s retort whenever I present my argument to her.

“Doesn’t matter,” I spit. “If he’s in danger he doesn’t have any way to defend himself!”

Anyway, that’s been our argument, and I know that I’m winning because when I bought my plane ticket and told Penny the day I was flying, she showed up to the airport to spell my wings away and with a magicked ticket for herself and Shepard. Obviously, I wouldn’t have got very far without her, but I started saying that if she didn’t help me, I’d find a way to use my wings to fly across the Atlantic. (I don’t think I could actually make that flight-but Penny knows how stubborn I am which is why I imagine she finally gave in.)

She hasn’t really spoken to me since she got here, she just spelled my wings off and gave me a look. Shepard smiled and waved at me when he saw me and she smacked his arm. But she’s here, which is a bloody relief because once we get there, I’m going to need her to help me make a plan.

I have no plan.

Originally, I thought I could get Baz’s wand from Mitali and get it back to him, but that backfired. Mitali still hasn’t told the coven about Baz, but when I brought up his wand, she said she had it locked away until she had the opportunity to speak with him again. She seemed a bit ruffled about it all to be honest, which is not Mitali’s usual way to be about anything. I think that Baz is a bit more than most people know what to do with

Every time I think about how I’m actually going to see him again my mind starts going in circles and I start feeling like I’m going to throw up. I don’t know if it’s excitement, nervousness, or maybe both? Either way, my throat has a knot in it that’s yanking on my stomach and causing it to do all sorts of acrobatic flips.

This time at the airport is completely different than the last two times I came to one. I don’t feel nervous about security, or boarding the plane this time-they’re all just small obstacles in the way of what I need to do. I’ve always been good at getting through obstacles and finding my destination.

We’ve been on the plane for about an hour before Penny finally decides to talk to me. She slips the headphones off my ear gently and sets her hand on top of mine.

“No turning back now, you know that right?” Her voice is soft, I guess the general air of annoyance didn’t really get her anywhere with me.

“Penny, if I wanted to turn back, I wouldn’t have come in the first place. I know what I’m doing.” I don’t.

“Are you going to try and get back together?” She looks at me closely, still covering my hand with hers. I let out a sigh and press pause on the film I’m watching.

“No, I can’t do that. All the reasons we broke up are still the same.” They are the same. I’m still me. And he’s still himself, wherever he might be. He’s still going to be something great. And he’s going to be happy, I’m going to make sure of it.

“And what are those reasons?” She asks it quietly, but she sounds like she’s patronizing me and already doesn’t believe whatever I’m going to answer her with.

“You know, we have different lives. Different goals. I’m a normal, he’s got a whole life ahead of him. I’m sure he’s already realizing how much better things are without me.”

“Simon, obviously that’s not true. And you’re far from normal, nothing about you will ever be normal. And Baz loves you.”

“He never said so.”

“Well, neither did you.”

“We weren’t good at talking,” I say.

“You’re not wrong there,” she sighs. “I just want you to be happy Simon. You’re not happy now, and you told me that you love him. You’re not just going to stop loving him.”

“Look, went there for a reason. Even if it was a wrong reason-he didn’t hesitate to fuck off as far from me as he could get and start playing house with a bunch of vampires,” I growl. I let the word vampire sour on my mouth.

“Maybe so, but if you’re not planning on trying to get him back, what are you planning?”

Fuck. “To get him to come back to England?” I sputter. “Talk to Professor Bunce, get his wand back.”

“And what makes you think that he’s going to come back with you Simon? And what makes you think the coven won’t decide to snap his wand in half and file off his fangs?” I wince at her words, because I’ve thought them through a lot. But they wouldn’t do that, right? I’m the bloody Chosen One for Crowley’s sake, I won’t let them. Even if I have to stand in front of him myself. They have to know that the only reason we’re not at civil war and the Humdrum hasn’t ripped all the magic from the world yet is because of Baz. I never would have figured out what was happening, at least not until it was too late. I may have defeated the Humdrum-but Baz is the reason the wars all ended.

It shouldn’t matter if he’s got fangs in that case, should it?

“I’ll make him come back,” I grumble. I take the headphones and slip that back over my ears while Penelope stares at me like she’s going to flick my nose and hug me all at once. I press play on my film and try to ignore her.

Baz

It’s another forty minutes before I make my way downstairs. It wasn’t all intentional, I still needed to wash my hair in the shower after getting it wet. Then I needed to find something appropriate to wear, I’m running out of suits and shirts that they haven’t seen me in yet. I settle for a simple purple silk button up. It doesn’t have any embellishments but the fabric looks nice against my skin. I match it with a pair of grey trousers and make sure to grab my sunglasses before walking down the stairs. It’s still just now 5pm and the atrium gets sunnier than I like.

When I arrive downstairs, Lamb is sitting with Judah and two other men I haven’t met yet. I swallow before approaching them, prepping my best _you don’t intimidate me_ voice and planting a disinterested look on my face.

“Baz!” Judah cries happily when he sees me. “For fucks sake, took you long enough!”

“It took an extra half hour getting the stench of you out of my room,” I roll my eyes at him.

“Basil, it’s nice to see you again,” Lamb says in a cool voice while gesturing to the empty seat between him and Judah. I nod and pull it out, trying to not let my eyes give away how uncomfortable he makes me feel. I suppose I feel like this because at one point I did trust him, and then he gave me all the reasons not to trust him-but somehow, I still feel like I can believe whatever he says. He has this infuriating calmness about him and he tends to command all of my attention when he speaks. The problem is when I see him, I also see Simon on the ground with his wings bent the wrong way. Covered in bullet holes and bloodied. I can’t reconcile the two emotions that his voice and that image make me feel, and it leaves me uncomfortable and uneasy.

“Lamb,” I nod. Not giving him any more than I have to.

“Have you found the accommodations here comfortable? Judah says you’ve spent quite a bit of time together exploring. The city.” As if he didn’t already know how I’ve spent every day.

“They’re quite lovely,” I admit. “I especially like the exposed brick and the clawfoot tub in the ensuite. It feels classic, but still modern.”

“Mmm. Yes I thought you might appreciate the architecture here. There really isn’t anything like it in England. Maybe Paris, if you know where to go. You’ve been I’m sure?”

“Actually no, I never had the chance to go to Paris.” Father didn’t really like to take me on his trips. I think he was afraid of having to come face to face with how I dealt with my condition and didn’t want to put us both in a position we would regret. I can’t say I blamed him; I don’t even think he knows how I survived all those years.

“Pity. It’s gorgeous there, and much more liberal than England when it comes to us. I would have thought with your family’s position you’d have spent your holidays traveling?” His eye twinkles like he knows exactly why I’ve never been to Paris. Bastard.

“I’ve been too focused on my studies to travel much,” I say shortly. “I would like to know, how much longer are you in Louisiana? Don’t you have responsibilities back in Vegas?”

Lamb laughs before answering me, a long heady laugh. “I’m here for the gala tomorrow, and then I’ll be headed home. I can’t handle it here for long-as fun as it is.” He takes a sip of his drink before continuing. “One of the reasons I called you down here tonight is to see if I can get a feel for what your plan is after the gala. I seem to understand you’re not exactly welcome at home anymore?”

“That’s not true,” I spit. “I left intentionally with the intention of learning more about the ma-the communities here and elsewhere in America. I can return whenever I like.”

“But you won’t, will you Baz? Surely, you’ve seen how much better things are on this side of the pond. Even here where they mix blood with the wolves.” Lamb hasn’t torn his eyes off of me. He’s waiting to catch me in a lie, but I know better after our last encounter. I can stave him off by telling him the selective truth, but he always catches my direct lies.

“I’ll make my decision once I’ve learned more about here and there, I suppose.” I say carefully. Lamb looks amused still, which is continuing to infuriate me.

“Well know that you’re welcome to travel to Vegas with me on Sunday, if you so choose.” He looks sincere, but I frown regardless. As if my previous experience with him has me fawning for his support and guidance once again. “But if not, Luther here is happy to let you stay in the house until you get on your feet.” I turn to notice one of the new men at the table for the first time. Luther is taller than me sitting down with dark skin and a head full of short dread locks. His has a nice face, with light brown eyes and a smile that moves across his cheekbones and spills out nearly to his ears.

“I’m Luther,” he says while stretching out his hand. “This is my house.” I don’t know why I never stopped to consider who’s house I’ve been staying in. I guess I assumed it belonged to Lamb, but he doesn’t seem to have any physical ties to New Orleans other than the political ones. “My family lives here, but I’ve got plenty of room for anyone who needs it. We let orphans stay here, and people in transition. You take as long as you like.”

I blink at him, then force a smile. “I’m so grateful for your hospitality. I don’t want to intrude of course- if someone else needs the room. And if you need some kind of compensation?”

Luther raises his eyebrows like he’s offended. “You don’t pay me anything, Baz. You just remember me when I need you one day. You know how these things work.” I don’t know how anything works, but I nod anyway and thank him for letting me stay here again.

The second strange man reaches a hand out as well and introduces himself as Carlos. I recognize the name as Judah’s sire, and give a small smile before shaking back. “Judah’s had great things to say about you, Mijo.” From what Judah has told me, Carlos is originally from Spain but spent the last hundred years or so in Cuba. He only made his way to New Orleans recently at the start of the Castro regime, following the other Cubans to the mainland USA. He met and turned Judah in Miami, and the two of them ended up living in New Orleans a few years ago.

I shoot Judah a look and try not to snort. “Good things, you say?”

“It helps that you’re hot,” Judah shrugs. I roll my eyes.

Carlos lifts his eyebrows but doesn’t say anything. Luther fills the silence. “Will you be attending the gala tomorrow night then?”

“I plan to,” I say. “There are a few people I was hoping to meet there.” Lamb’s eyes catch mine and he gives me a warning glare, no doubt to stave me from mentioning anything that might connect me to the mages. I did think that the mages here got along fine with the vampires, but maybe it’s more complex than that?

“Oh, anyone in particular?” Carlos asks.

“Just, the different leaders and the people who have lived here a while. It’s quite different from my home, you see. I’m trying to understand how we got where we are, where we could be.”

Lamb relaxes a bit, but still says nothing. I lift my eyebrows at him and he frowns. I’m not sure what we’re communicating, but he’s not going to stop me from finding the vampires who’ve paired up with mages here. He’s not going to stop me from getting to understand the treaty, or finding out more about what makes New Orleans special. I’m not here to settle into a vampire foster family, I’m here for answers.

“Will you stay for a few drinks, Baz?” Judah asks now-breaking the tension between my silent conversation with Lamb.

“I’ve got a bit of a headache,” I say before realizing it’s a bad lie. Vampires don’t really get headaches unless they’re hungry, and obviously that shouldn’t be a problem here. “And I’d like to get some rest before tomorrow,” I attempt to save. Really, I need to feed and find something to wear tomorrow but I would rather not give the details of my untraditional lifestyle after all of this.

“If you’re trying to meet people, you’re going to need to be more social than that,” Lamb comments. I draw in my breath and give a small, fake smile.

“Of course. Starting tomorrow you’ll likely be seeing much more of me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright. So first of all I want to apologize for the very long awaited update, I hope you haven't completely forgotten about this story by now!
> 
> Second, I wanted to thank everyone for the kudos and comments which have helped me revisit this, even when life circumstances and writers block threatened to make me give it up all together.
> 
> I now have a comprehensive plan and outline, and a few more chapters written-so things should move a bit quicker hopefully. That being said, I've had a few huge changes in my life in the past few months and they've made finding time for writing difficult-so please keep sending me your thoughts so we can get to the end of this story! I have great plans for it. 
> 
> Thank you again!


	6. Chapter 6

**Baz**

  
I step back from the shabby floor length mirror to admire my ensemble. For the gala, I chose to wear a muted turquoise suit with a light blue collared shirt and blue-grey tie. I considered pulling my hair back, but opted in the end to let it fall loose around my face. It’s reached a length I quite like, and pulling it back tends to emphasize the widows peaks a bit to a Dracula type look I’m less fond of. It’s hard not to quirk a bit of a smile at my own reflection. I look good.

The gala starts tonight at 8pm. I’m no stranger to gatherings like these, however I’ve never attended one thrown by mages and vampires. From what I’ve garnered from Judah and the others, the gala is an annual event hosted by ‘Stella and Jules’. Stella is a mage who has lived in New Orleans for over 60 years. From what the rumors say, she still looks as beautiful as the day she turned 25, despite being at least 90 years old (the rumors on her age tend to vary). More than likely she is parry to dark magic rituals that keep one looking and feeling youthful. We learned that spells like this exist at Watford, but the magic is banned in England. It’s blood magic, darker than even my family tends to dally with.

Stella is known for her beauty and her connections. Although I am not sure how accurate the information garnered from Judah is, it seems like she is a very polarizing character with a cult like following of mages here, as well as several enemies. She’s the most powerful mage to live in this region, and her allegiance with the vampires and relationship with Jules has caused a split in the magical community here. Mages in New Orleans don’t follow any sort of council or have a Coven like government, but most of them listen to Stella. The ones who don’t seem to know to keep their distance.

Stella’s partner Jules is a vampire who is at least 600 years old and that has been the elected leader in New Orleans for the past 100 years. His followers mostly respect and adore him. From what I’ve heard, he’s fair and charismatic, a grand leader, and also incredibly handsome. There is a faction of vampires who would like to see him removed from his position due to his partnership with the mages. There are also those from other regions who disagree with his policies but keep a political allegiance with him regardless (Lamb seems to be in that group).

Tonight, Stella’s cult following and most of the vampires of New Orleans will be attending a gala to celebrate 15 years of the treaty in New Orleans. There are leaders and their families from other regions around the country attending, and even a few from Canada and Mexico.

“You ready to go?” Judah calls, letting himself in to my room without so much as a knock. I roll my eyes and decide not to snap at him. Its not done anything to stop him in the past, so obviously I need to try a different approach if I ever want to retrieve a semblance of privacy while living here.

“About,” I answer as I neatly tuck in the pocket square that matches my tie and give my hair a final smooth over.

“You look stunning,” he says while eyeing me up and down. His look makes me feel a bit sticky, but I ignore it.

“I know.”

“Food is always amazing at this thing. You’ll love it. And maybe we can find someone to get your mind off your golden boy,” he grins. “Course, I could always do that too.”

I give a disapproving ‘hmph’ instead of responding with words and turn towards the door. Judah offers me his arm and I ignore it. “Let’s get this over with,” I sigh.

Of course, I’m not dreading it half as much as my pretense says. I will meet Stella, and/or Jules. I don’t have much of a plan beyond that, but something tells me that they’re the key to all of this.

**Simon**

We’ve been in New Orleans for almost an entire day now and I still haven’t got to see _anything_. Penny made me stay in the hotel while she and Shepard went out looking for something for us to wear tonight. They’re also testing out her new spell, the one she cast on Shepard to make him look like a vampire. It didn’t seem to do much to him, but his movements do seem a bit more fluid, his skin a bit ashier, and he seems to shimmer a bit if you look at him the right way. It reminds me of the vampires from Las Vegas, so I guess she did a pretty good job.

I’ve been shut up in this hotel lobby eating bottomless chips and salsa for about two hours now. I bet the waitress didn’t expect my appetite when she recommended anything that was “bottomless”. She’s filled the basket up four times, but the last time I had to wave her down. Maybe I should order something else?

"’We’re back!” Penny says, walking towards me from the hotel lobby with Shepard straggling behind her. Penny has short legs, but when she’s on a mission she’s nearly impossible for anyone to keep up with. “I got you something to wear tonight too!” She shoves a shopping bag towards me and I stuff a handful of tortilla chips in my mouth before taking it from her.

“Want some? They’re bottomless,” I say with a full mouth. Penny frowns at me, but Shepard takes one and uses it to scoop up half of the salsa still left in the bowl. I really need that waitress to come back.

“I think you’ll like the outfit, Simon. It’s quite nice. Baz will be impressed.” She smiles and lifts the corner of the bag revealing a soft grey fabric. It looks expensive as fuck.

“Not tryin’ to impress Baz, I just need to talk him in to coming back ‘s all,” I mumble. Penny rolls her eyes and gives me a look that says ‘sure’, only it’s dripping with sarcasm.

“So, can we go over the plan one more time?” Shepard asks. “I can’t say I’ve ever pretended to be a vampire before.” He takes another chip, this one loaded with almost as much salsa as the first. Where the bloody hell is our waitress?

“You’re a vampire from Nebraska. I’m your girlfriend who’s a mage. Simon is your blood pet.” I frown at her term for me and open my mouth to protest, but Penny keeps talking over me. “We came because we heard about the treaty here and we wanted to see if we could make a new home in New Orleans, somewhere away from the prejudice we’re getting from both our sides. We only talk if someone asks us questions. When we find Baz, we try to get him away and then Simon can do…whatever it is he needed to fly all the way here and put all our lives in danger for.” Penny stops and looks at me placidly.

“Just get him back. So he can get his wand and the coven doesn’t strike him.”

“Right,” she says. “Let’s get back to the room and change. It’s already 7pm and while arriving late is fine, we don’t want to get there so late that Baz leaves. He’s not one for staying at parties late.”

“Are you sure Baz is going to be here?” I ask. I mean, couldn’t we just try to find him in the hotels here? Maybe do a locating spell? I’ve still got his handkerchief.

Sheppard interjects, “If he is here for the reason he said, he’ll definitely be there. Everyone who is anyone is going to be here. He’d be stupid not to come.”

“How did you even hear about this thing, Shep?”

“You know. Rumors. Forums. People. It’s an old event, at least fifteen years. Why else would Lamb be here?” He covers his mouth as soon as he says it.

“Wait, Lamb is going to be there?” I snort. “With Baz?” My skin is prickling, a familiar heat is rising to my face.

“We don’t know if he’s actually going to be there, Simon. We’re just assuming because Baz said he was here last week. It makes sense.” She puts her hand on my shoulder to calm me down but I grab the suit from her instead and stomp towards the elevator.

Its good that he’s here. Because now I can fucking kill him.

**Baz**

The gala is a lot like other galas I have attended. Women in gorgeous floor length gowns with extravagant makeup, men in expensive tailored suits and flashy accessories. I don’t know what I expected, really. Vampires feeding on their normal pets in the corners? Mages hosting duels in the courtyard? It’s all a bit too normal really, with suited waiters flitting about carrying platters of hors d’oeurves and refilling half empty glasses of wine.

I’ve not been here long, but I can already feel the wine hitting me. I’ve no idea how much I’ve actually drank because every time my glass is half empty, someone comes around and tops it off again. I’ll need to say no next time if I want to keep my wits about me. Judah has been fluttering around, flirting with every man and woman he encounters. I slipped away from him a few moments after arriving and have done my best to drift in the circles that seemed most likely to give information. So far, none of the gossip has been rewarding. I learned about an old vampire’s affair with a human and how his wife killed said human and strung her up in his room. I was also roped into a conversation with a group of women who had never been to Britain and were fascinated by my accent. I left that one as quickly as I could.

I’d maybe been here an hour when the crowds started to really overwhelm me. There was no sign of Stella or Jules, not even gossip or rumors about where they could be or when they would show up. My attempts to shield my wine glass were getting more and more difficult, and I even ended up taking a round of shots and toasting the queen with a group of Canadian vampires.

I’m standing on the sideline of the dancefloor (which wasn’t yet occupied with dancers, just social groups for now) nursing another glass of red when Judah finds me. His eyes are drooping and he has a lipstick stain on the side of his neck. Lovely.

“Basil! ‘S alright if I call you that?” He pronounces it ‘bay-sil’ and I let my lip curl at the intonation. Bloody Americans.

“I think not,” I snap. He laughs at this, a round heady laugh that blasted me in the face. His breath smelled like shrimp and beer. Is there beer here? I hadn’t found a tap yet.

“You’re so snippy all the time Bay-sil,” he grinned. And before I could say anything else, he shuffles closer to me and presses my face between his two palms, crushing a big sloppy kiss in the center of my mouth. It didn’t feel especially intimate, it reminded me of a Russian grandparent’s lip kiss, but I shove him off me all the same.

“Do. You. Mind. Dear god Judah you taste like a fish market that got high in a brewery,” I snap. And I think Judah said something after that, but I couldn’t say exactly what it was because my eyes had caught sight of something. Something that took away my ability to hear anything at all.

My mind must be playing tricks on me, or maybe I’ve had too much to drink already-but I swear that I could see Simon Snow was standing about ten feet away from me, looking stunning in a gorgeous grey wool suit with a dark grey vest and a black bow tie. He was flanked on either side by Shepard and Bunce, both surprisingly put together for the event. His expression was gaping (mouth breather) and maybe a bit furious. We lock eyes for about three seconds before he takes a step towards me-subsequently crashing into one of the waiters carrying a large platter of shrimp cocktails. The platter crashed to the ground, accompanied by several small glass shrimp glasses and a splattering of cocktail sauce. The waiter had been holding a bottle of champagne in his other hand, and that also flew to the ground and started spinning around spouting bubbly liquid around the crowd of people. I think a woman screamed, and Simon somehow ended up on the floor with stains on his lovely grey suit. I felt frozen in place, unable to respond to any of it.

Bunce rushed down to help him up and a few waiters had started to help clean up the poor fool who ended up in Snow’s path. I feel completely paralyzed watching them. There’s no way I could dream up a nightmare like this. “Baz!” I heard Bunce screech. “Get over here, Baz!” I winced at her volume (she’s never been one for discretion) and down the wine in my glass before taking a deep breath and stepping closer to the catastrophe in the center of the dancefloor.

“Who’s that?” Judah asks. I ignore him and glide closer to where Snow is still on the ground, picking a shrimp off his jacket and putting it in his mouth (I’m not even repulsed by it. There’s something seriously wrong with me). When I reach him, I think someone else must be speaking with my voice because I literally have no idea what to say or how to say it. Snow is glowing. He looks thinner than when I saw him a month ago, but his eyes are still sparkling and his curls are catching the dancefloor lights and I have to do my best not to swoon, not to rush towards him and hoist him off the ground and lick the cocktail sauce off his chin (seriously, what’s wrong with me?)

I only have two settings when it comes to Simon Snow. One is embarrassingly soft, and the other is intimately more familiar to both of us. “Care to tell me what you’re doing here, other than trying to handicap the help?” I sneer at him.

“I will if you tell me what you’re doing snogging a lumberjack vampire,” he snarls back. I don’t help him up. He lifts himself up instead and steps closer to my face. I’m consumed by his scent, browned butter and warm cinnamon, a bit of sweat, and an edge of cocktail sauce. His shampoo smells different, it must be new.

“Last I recall, you gave me permission to snog whoever I please when you told me to fuck off in London,” I snap back. He squares his jaw and stands closer to me. I could easily lift him up from here, stuff my face into his, carry him into a corner away from everyone who is most definitely staring at us now. Or throw him back down and walk away. It wouldn’t be Simon if there weren’t a scene.

“Yeah well, I thought you didn’t like vampires,” he mutters. He’s not standing down, but I can see in his eyes. He’s jealous. I try not to smile at the thought.

“I don’t,” I scoff instead. “But who I do and don’t like is hardly your business anymore. Now, Merlin and Morgana Snow can you PLEASE tell me what the fuck you’re doing here? Of all places?” I gesture to the room around me where several observers have kept a close eye on every word of our conversation.

“Not..not here,” he whispered loudly. As if it makes a difference. “It’s home stuff, I need to talk to you.”

“Well I’m quite busy. Try my later next week, perhaps?”

“Ughhhh Baz,” he growls, “will you just come with me please? We need to leave here; you need to come with me.”

“I’ve business here, Snow. Business that hardly concerns you. I’m sorry you’ve wasted your trip, but now you need to leave.” _Please don’t actually leave_ , I think.

“Simon!” Bunce interrupts. It’s fine, we know where he is now, he can meet us tomorrow, right Baz?” She looks at me grimly. “But I’m sorry to say, we aren’t leaving just yet. This place is fascinating! I’ve never seen anything like it! Merlin, mages and vampires-can you believe it?”

What I can’t believe is how bloody casual she is being about the fact that she and Simon and Shepard have barged in on what had until very recently been my own private exile, my own journey of self-discovery, my opportunity to move on. Did she not see that bringing Simon here jeopardizes everything for me? His mouth is hanging open again and he’s staring behind me. I dart a glance and see Judah has sauntered to my side. “So, he does have friends!” Judah cackles. I think I hear Simon give a low feral growl, like a territorial dog. I bite my tongue so I don’t chuckle out loud.

“They were just leaving,” I say dryly. “I need another drink.” The waiters aren’t quite as attentive to this circle as they had been to every other place I stood. I think they’re afraid to come near Simon. He still has cocktail sauce on his nose.

“Maybe we should leave,” Shepard says suddenly. Penny turns around to him (I’ve just noticed that she’s charmed him to look like a vampire. It’s brilliant actually, if I didn’t know what her magic smelled like and what he looked like I would have thought he was one of us immediately).

“What do you mean, leave? Shep-this is brilliant! I’ve got to learn more about this place.”

“I, I dunno. Something’s going on over there and I think we should leave.”

Everything after that seems to happen in slow motion, but in reality, it takes about five. Someone shouts something in Latin and a stream of fire rips onto the dance floor. Simon grabs me by the shoulders and shoves me away, even though the fire is a few yards from where I was standing. A few vampires ignite immediately, and a few humans start to scream as the flames burn through their clothes.

Penny acts instantly, holding her ring towards the flames and casting **Make a Wish**. Most of them burn out, but a few catches on a woman’s dress and she drops to the floor, screaming before it moves to her ankle and she turns to ash.

Another stream of fire rips out, catching more people in its wake and this time coming closer to us. “Baz we’ve got to go!” Simon screams. He’s reaching towards his hip as if there’s a weapon there, then curling his fist in a frustrated gesture. Smoke is filling the small room and flames are licking around us. I can smell magic permeating the air, filling the crevices and mixing with the smoke. There are a few voices casting spells I think, and the lights at the far end of the room are clashing. It looks like a dual, with two mages squaring off around each other.

A vampire leaps onto one mage’s back and digs his fangs into her neck. She screams a spell and his head pops off, the body dropping and turning to ash. “Fuck, Baz!” Simon screams. “Here!” He shoves something in my hand, and I can feel my magic rushing to it. I look down and breath quietly. Its his wand, his old wand from his Watford days. It’s not mine, its not connected by blood-but it’ll do.

I cast **Cat Got Your Tongue** at one of the mages who is obviously the fire culprit, followed quickly by **Make a Wish**. Simon is pulling on my coat sleeves and urging me towards the door. Everyone is pouring out of the room, with the exception of a few mages who have begun to fire spells at each other.

Penny is throwing a shield around us and I turn towards the door which is now covered in fire. I send a blasting spell towards the door and a hole rips into the wall, letting the hundreds of people still trapped inside pour out. I’m moving with Simon and Bunce when I hear a voice that stands out over all.

She’s like fire incarnate, a radiating with magic and hardly bending from the effort of using god like amounts of it. She casts out all of the fire with a spell I’ve never heard, and then all of the fire dies out immediately. It has to be Stella, because all of the mages that were casting fire spells have suddenly turned towards her. There are spells coming at her from five directions and she’s deflecting them, but she can’t do it forever-even at that power level. I turn away from Simon and run back into the building and towards her. “Baz, what are you doing!” Simon shouts.

“I need to help her,” I say over my shoulder before barreling towards Stella and the mages throwing spells. “Stay back, Simon!”


End file.
